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Hill. “Delusion!” “You can call it what you like,” she said. You did not learn that in a convent. Had it not been for the Plague, she might have had her own babies. As the novel grew Ruth was astonished to see herself enter and dominate it: sometimes as she actually was, with all her dreams reviewed—as if he had caught her talking in her sleep. Dieu du ciel, what was it? She turned slowly, listening for the direction of the sound. He was an odd one, especially for a young man.
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