" "Thames Ditton—is that your name?" "No," replied the boy, impatiently; "Darrell—Thames Darrell. . ’ She frowned suddenly. There was a pint of champagne and a quart of mineral water (both taboo) at his elbow. A gust of irrational impatience blew through her being. He saw what he had done only as it related to Ruth. “Let us escape,” she said. " "What has he done?" "What did he have to drink over here last night?" "Not even water. She and John were able to see each other many times and spent long romantic winter afternoons together. “The plain common-sense of the case,” he said, “is that we can’t possibly be lovers in the ordinary sense. No doubt there’s some little mistake.
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