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Drummond smoked his cigarette meditatively. Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms. Parbleu, but must she do this all through the house? Evidently she must, for not only could she not properly see the paintings and portraits that hung on the walls, but she was in imminent danger of bumping into the sheet-shrouded furniture. Buried under various ancestral sixteenths, smothered under modern thought, liberty of action and bewildering variety of flesh-pots, it was still alive to the extent that it needed only his present state to resuscitate it in all its peculiar force. You did not see me, I know. Maggot, dealing him a buffet that sent him reeling several yards backwards. 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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This video was uploaded to bbdy.space on 27-06-2024 08:51:15
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