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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. She looked from Anna, who was far too nice-looking to be travelling about alone, to that reassuring pile of luggage, and wrinkled her brows thoughtfully. I must have been very wound up. “I see nothing of my sister,” she said. Jack could hardly be accounted good-looking: Thames, on the contrary, was one of the handsomest boys possible. A third that joined this to the chambers at the front of the house. “I wonder if you will?” “Let me say one thing,” he said.
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