Weeks hurled past, weeks that turned into months. Rain started to pummel the roof of the pavilion, which coalesced into sheets and rumbled to the cement below. He, for his part, was trying to grasp the series of unexpected reactions that had so wrecked their tete-a-tete. Presently he became filled with astonishment over the singular fact that Ruth was eluding him in fancy as well as in reality. On the mantelpiece in front of her was a note addressed to her in Annabel’s handwriting.
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