The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. He helped himself to a beer, then a vodka and tonic, then two rum and Cokes. “You killed them, didn’t you?” He said. “Good God!” he exclaimed. When she occupied, it, it was neatness itself; the little porch was overrun with creepers—the garden trim and exquisitely kept. ’ The lady shook her head, contriving at the same moment to utter a breathy little laugh. “I suppose I ought to congratulate you,” he said.
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