There was a tearing sound and the cloth of her habit ripped apart as the smothered point drove through it, missing its intended target. For a time her efforts to achieve a comprehensive concentration were dispersed by the passage of the village street of Caddington, the passing of a goggled car-load of motorists, and the struggles of a stable lad mounted on one recalcitrant horse and leading another. Not even for Ruth could he do such a beastly thing. Manning, I do not think I love you. From first to last, on this occasion, her aunt expostulated for about two hours.
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