For a time her efforts to achieve a comprehensive concentration were dispersed by the passage of the village street of Caddington, the passing of a goggled car-load of motorists, and the struggles of a stable lad mounted on one recalcitrant horse and leading another. Ruth had lived in a world without caresses. Could she go through with it? She must. Go back at once, please. She was noisy and hilarious and enthusiastic, and her hair was always abominably done. “Oh, there’s no doubt of it! Since the girls of the eighties broke bounds and sailed away on bicycles—my young days go back to the very beginnings of that —it’s been one triumphant relaxation. I will have nothing to do with you.
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