He dropped the key on the counterpane. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. . " "Thought so. A distant suggestion of chalets and a glimpse of the road set them talking for a time of the world they had left behind. ” “I’ll wait, then. What was the alternative to going home? No alternative appeared in that darkness. It was so arranged that Ruth went on duty after breakfast and remained until noon. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it.
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