‘Do you think it is the man in the moon that I mean? What is it that Gérard has told you?’ ‘That you need help. ” There was silence between them. She grasped at the right one, massaging where his grip had been and Gerald hoped he had not bruised her. But most of all, I wanted to love. 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. One might have said that these trees grieved for their native soil; and, grieving, refused to bear. When she came in after dinner that night, Ruth was no longer an interesting phenomenon, something figuratively to tear apart and investigate: she was talismanic.
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