"But I like Bobby Burns best. Home!— which I never hoped to see again. Ennison kicked it away with his foot. “A little nervous. Quite!” He sat in the arm-chair and took tea, and consumed several of the extra cakes which she had sent out for and talked to her and expressed himself, looking very earnestly at her with his deep-set eyes, and carefully avoiding any crumbs on his mustache the while. She felt his tongue press into her mouth. "Your wife?" "His lawful wife," said Ruth, with fine dignity. "In case he should consent—" "He never will," interrupted Winifred. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account.
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