Are you going to write a novel?” “Not I,” she answered gaily. ‘Shall we abandon the guard, then, sir?’ ‘Certainly not. No good at all. CHAPTER XIV Ruth lost the point entirely. She nuzzled his chest and he breathed deeply of the scent of her Finesse conditioner. He did like her, anyhow; he was always pleased to be with her. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. At that time, we were beneath the sway of Anne: we are now at the commencement of the reign of George the First. His eyebrows arched, knotting in the middle.
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