His heart hammered in his chest. 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. He made the universe on those lines. As they passed beneath the thick trees that shade the road to Dollis Hill, the gloom was almost impenetrable. On beholding the intruders, his fears changed to exultation, and he uttered a roar of satisfaction as he glared at them, which could only be likened to the cry of some savage denizen of the plains.
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