Oh, yes; of Ruth herself he knew much; but the more he mulled over what he knew, the deeper grew his chagrin. “I want to be your friend,” he said. It’s an instinct. It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his. Chapter XXIII MONTAGUE HILL SEES LIGHT AT LAST At exactly ten minutes past ten Annabel rang the bell of her sister’s flat. “Let us walk round to Covent Garden,” he suggested. CHAPTER XXIII Next morning Ruth did not refer to the episode on the sands of the lagoon. "Nobody composes any more, nobody paints, nobody writes—I mean, on a par with what we've just heard. E. She required no instructions from books; her wit and beauty were her own.
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