A hollow plunge, echoed and re-echoed by the walls, marked his descent into the water. “Your brother has gone?” she asked Sydney, between the courses. It had been cut down before life was extinct, but a ball from one of the soldiers had pierced his heart. And neither had any of that theatricality which demands gestures and facial expression. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. "You needn't gag me," he added, "I'll not cry out.
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