A silver necklace enhanced the dusky beauty of her neck. "All's bowman, my covey. “But I am your husband,” he said. I keep on thinking of little details and aspects of your voice, your eyes, the way you walk, the way your hair goes back from the side of your forehead. 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. I put my foot down like—like adamant.
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