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’ The snaking suspicion rolled through his mind again. . His face was white. She felt terrible lying to him. “But perhaps I want to confess them. ’ He glanced at the portrait behind her. She reached a tiny yellow-fronted cottage covered with flowering creepers, and entered the front room by the wide-open window. 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. John’s best friend’s parents were to be out of town again, he reported. I won't keep you long.

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