Springing to his feet in an ecstasy of terror, he stumbled, and had well nigh realized his worst apprehensions. "That's for Mrs. Here we go, thought Gerald. The stranger started at the touch, and spoke. No; she'd never go back. "On Friday," he replied. The idea of Ruth as a talisman against misfortune—which he now recognized as a sick man's idea— faded as his appreciation of the absurd reasserted itself. Then it dawned. “One doesn’t wait,” said Ann Veronica. Lost me place, that’s all.
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