Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. ‘Oh my God,’ uttered Gerald in some dismay. He saw her eyes pass him and settle on a fleetingly pretty strawberry blond girl and her effeminate father. He found that the skiff had been dashed against one of the buttresses of the bridge. ‘Come along. “Are you A, B, C, or D?” he asked.
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