Ruth wore a printed cotton kimono. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. . ’ ‘It’s too late for that,’ Gerald told her evenly. Not so bad. It looks so French to be affectionate. To his astonishment and delight it yielded to the pressure, toppled over the ledge, and sank.
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