All men are bloody fucking hypocrites. Blotted out—Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word Love. I do not care in the least. He looked up to see an ancient coach making its ponderous way down the street. He was interesting and inconclusive, and the original papers to which he referred her discursive were at best only suggestive. ’ It had not before occurred to him, but this realisation fuelled the general’s growing conviction that he was being imposed upon in some way. ’ ‘Melusine, did you say?’ Mrs Sindlesham sighed. CHAPTER V At dinner the spinsters invited Ruth to sit at their table, an invitation she accepted gratefully. . It was a mad half-hour.
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