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. The fragrance of dryer sheets lay upon her like the snow that now drifted peacefully outside. It was at the top of the building, and looked clear over a clustering mass of inferior buildings toward Regent’s Park. He will return, and you shall be awaiting his arrival!” When her own underarms and groin turned pink, then blue, then black, she confined herself to bed.
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