‘Where’s the sense in running away?’ ‘Doesn’t trust me,’ Gerald said briefly. There is turmoil, shouts, cries, jostlings, milling congestions that suddenly break and flow in opposite directions. We thought of starting in half an hour’s time, and trying for a theatre somewhere on the way. Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight.
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