"Go to lunch," he ordered Ruth. The three of them laughed joyously. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds. She fluttered her eyelashes, and adopted the soulful tone that served her well at times.
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