We middle-aged fools and we old fools can no longer dream. Always at your service. “It’s very late. In Paddington. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. There was still the pity of understanding in Ruth's eyes. There was no disgust in Ruth's heart, only an infinite pity; for only the pitiful understand. She looked up quickly.
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