In the recess beside the fireplace were some open bookshelves. But he would make it a point not to speak again to the girl. There’s nothing happened at all!” She didn’t mean, he concluded, to give him any more trouble ever, and he was free to begin a fresh chromatic novel—he had just finished the Blue Lagoon, which he thought very beautiful and tender and absolutely irrelevant to Morningside Park—or work in peace at his microtome without bothering about her in the least. I always fall on my feet, you know. By a sort of instinct. Why had Ruth married him? A penniless outcast, for she must have known he was that. I can’t rest or work or settle down to anything while things are like this between you and me. ‘And you, my girl, if you’d been born at all, would have been just what you think you are. Please sit with me.
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