“That’s all. ” “Thanks for the nice evening, John. gutenberg. “Tut, tut!” he said. Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight. “How’d you know it was me?” He looked conspiratorially into the room for hidden informants. ‘Of course the fellow has doubtless stayed put to wait for you,’ retorted Hilary. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application.
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