‘Gérard, you are a great fool. As she did so, the ruffles to the jacket of her riding habit fell away, exposing livid blue bruises about her wrist, ugly in the light of day from the window at their back. ‘You know about that?’ ‘It was the only possible deduction. The problem had returned, made gigantic by the possibility of Ruth's love. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled.
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