48 <6> THE FRIDAY NIGHT SHOW The air was chill and the sky overcast and misting. Her father was right: Ruth must never know. It was not the type of household where one could come and go at all hours, for this she was glad. “Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. ’ ‘What, a common soldier?’ ‘He was not a common soldier. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. . Of you, I mean.
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