“Loneliness,” she said, “is a luxury which I never permit myself. The doctor smoked his pipe thoughtfully. Ruth took hers in the sea, but was careful never to go beyond her depth because of the sharks. “A confusion of motives—that’s what I am!. I’ve made up my mind. They had been playing tennis, with his manifest intention looming over her. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed. She saw me, and, Lady Ferringhall, I shall never forget her look as long as I live. She cried out his name in ecstasy. Her father read a draft prospectus warily, and her aunt dropped fragments of her projects for managing while the cook had a holiday.
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