“I hope you’re satisfied. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. The rest of the crowd followed suit with weak laughter. Dinner was served at 5:30. And then, as she stood there, with the fragments of the torn canvas at her feet, some even caught upon her skirt, the door was thrown open, and a girl entered humming a light tune. You can’t look me in the eyes and say you don’t care for me. "Where?" "That can wait," she answered. 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. He had meant to come at his business in a roundabout way, but for that little slip.
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