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. Melusine turned and turned, unable to imagine just where the secret door could be. “It’s his birthday. ‘That is good,’ she said with satisfaction, ‘for I was compelled on Saturday to abandon the chase. He looked at her for a moment in a puzzled sort of way. ’ She bestowed a dazzling smile on Roding, who had reddened to the gills at these words. "I don't understand you, gentlemen," stammered he, at length. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. It was the blouse that gave Lucy away. In some incomprehensible way that back view made her feel sorry for Alice.
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