"No!" she cried. In the adjacent apartment Ann Veronica found a middle-aged woman with a tired face under the tired hat she wore, sitting at a desk opening letters while a dusky, untidy girl of eight-or nine-and-twenty hammered industriously at a typewriter. Ruth was something to study for future copy; she was almost unbelievable. As for this infatuation—it’s like some obsession, some magic thing laid upon you. Manning,” she said, “for a time—Will you tell no one? Will you keep this—our secret? I’m doubtful—Will you please not even tell my aunt?” “As you will,” he said. "There'll be a louder echo here presently," thought Jonathan. "Where did I hear that before?" "Perhaps that first day, in the water-clock tower.
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