The idea of Ruth as a talisman against misfortune—which he now recognized as a sick man's idea— faded as his appreciation of the absurd reasserted itself. " "Your father did right," replied Jack, with some bitterness. “I saw you in a sort of sloping, slippery place, holding on by your hands and slipping. I am bored to distraction. . It felt too good. “I’m really very sorry. ’ Gerald ignored this. Besides, you've secrets which must not be disclosed. It was difficult to get right. The disgrace of the leaders of the late Tory administration had strengthened, rather than injured, their cause. 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. No Cantonese was in those days permitted to cross to the Sha-mien after sunset without a license. God send the fellow did turn out to be a spy! Beckoning Roding on, Gerald crept down the corridor towards the source of the swishing he had heard.
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