As the novel grew Ruth was astonished to see herself enter and dominate it: sometimes as she actually was, with all her dreams reviewed—as if he had caught her talking in her sleep. “It is so difficult,” she murmured, “so impossible to explain. ” “It is you,” he cried, “you, who are talking folly, when you speak of friendship between you and me. He would take her with great force. She reached a tiny yellow-fronted cottage covered with flowering creepers, and entered the front room by the wide-open window.
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