"He's about to cross the river. It will be hot work, but it must be done at once. 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. ‘Silence,’ hissed a voice in French. Every now and then her general presence became radiantly dazzling in his eyes; she would appear in the street coming toward him, a surprise, so fine and smiling and welcoming was she, so expanded and illuminated and living, in contrast with his mere expectation. Hilary Roding was all soldier now, his earlier grievances laid aside. He was yellow and coarse of hair; flea-bitten, too; and even as he smiled at Ruth and wagged his stumpy tail, he was forced to turn savagely upon one of these disturbers who had no sense of the fitness of things. Told you how it would be. " "I'm sorry. ’ The fury welled. I’m sorry to hurt your feelings. He gripped one of her pert nipples with his fingers as he came inside her. He was always forgetting that his tummy was fifty-four years old.
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