Arrived in Paris she remembered that she had not the money for a fiacre. He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. ” She shook her head deliberately, hopelessly. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. Saviour's Stairs.
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