"Go to lunch," he ordered Ruth. And as he walked by her side they began a wrangle that was none the less pleasant to Ann Veronica because it served to banish a disagreeable preoccupation. He motioned the young man to the rear chair, because at that hour the youth appeared to be a quantity close to zero. He was consumed with desire. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You should have gone to Charvill. Bit priggish, isn’t it? And if he only knew it—so absurd. “And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing. "That was the lad's name," returned the stranger.
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