The jolly part of it was that for the first time in her life so far as London was concerned, she was not going anywhere in particular; for the first time in her life it seemed to her she was taking London in. “Mike, what’s going on?” She sat up, groggily rubbing her eyes. He had a blue overstuffed couch, his own television, even a computer with its own desk. Ruth flashed in and out of the sunshine; and he took note of the radiant nimbus above her head each time the sunshine touched her hair. One puts gloves on one’s greedy fingers.
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