"Go to lunch," he ordered Ruth. He thrust out a rhetorical hand. The floor was strewn with screws, nails, fragments of wood and stone, and across the passage lay the heavy iron fillet. Then, very awkwardly, he took a stool and placed it at the end of Ann Veronica’s table, and sat down. Then you may have a bit of a chance. You have been going out every morning, and coming home late—tired out—too tired to come down to dinner. They have retired. There was no need to be afraid for me. He knew she was out there, he could feel it. He had tossed an honoured name into the mire; he required no prison bars to accentuate this misery. The hurricane had now reached its climax.
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