She wondered even at this late day how she had been able to hold her maddening curiosity in check. Will you read to me? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy. 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. Lucy stood relieved that she had not messed up the solo. And Miss Miniver began to sway her. Was the situation so desperate that he could not pack his best things? She had packed lightly, not wanting to weigh down the carriage they would travel in. The Widgetts talked with a remarkable absence of external coverings; the Palsworthys found all the meanings of life on its surfaces. “Very well,” said her father. He reached for her chin and lifted it up. It would not have been for her an anomaly to read a love story in which there were no kisses.
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