The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. In an instant, she turned on him. But it means no end of a row. After he was gone in the morning, Ruth would steal into the study and hurriedly read what he had written the previous night. “I was sick of the make-believe. "Jack!" Her son averted his gaze.
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