She was unusually soft and gentle in her manner to him. 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. “So she must have had you fairly young, right?” Lucy nodded again. His diminutive hand flew out from behind his back like a wounded bird. ‘Damnation! Too late. I’m that shamed to confess it, miss, but it were then I thought of Martha.
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