A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. Ruth shivered; she was cold. It was her past now, not Annabel’s. He says only that he must tie up all the loose ends. Some day I'm going to paint her; but that will be when I've retired. Not about girls that I date. Fretting and fidgeting, he had, after an hour or so, turned to McClintock.
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