] CHAPTER VIII Slowly Ruth entered her own room. . She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. F. “And think, think”—her voice sank —“of the horrible coarseness!” “What coarseness?” said Ann Veronica. ‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. Befuddle yourself, if you want to. ’ Gerald sat back in his chair, thinking hard.
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