It was partly to pay a grudge he had against father. She could still remember his face, the perpetually wet lips that turned down at the sides, his drooping Roman eyes. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. It was a mass of knick-knacks. But Darrell averted his head. That there would eventually be a lover Ruth knew; and she waited his appearance upon the scene, waited with an impatience which was both personal and literary. Nothing else matters. “Look here, Ann Veronica,” he began. To be no longer with Martha was strange. ‘But I have the pistol,’ Gerald pointed out. ‘You usually do,’ he said lightly.
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