“Miserable bounder,” he murmured. But what did the occupant of the box care? The laugh was always with the dead: they were out of the muddle. He was unusually absurd and ready, and all the time it seemed to Ann Veronica as a delightful possibility, as a thing not indeed to be entertained seriously, but to be half furtively felt, that he was being so agreeable because she had come back again. It filled her with indefinable fear. Through a blur of tears Ruth followed the rocking light until it vanished. These petals! I’ve been wanting to cry all the evening, cry here on your shoulder for my petals. Sheppard,—"pray let me go.
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