A neighbor stopped by as the day wore on, causing her to duck and cower as he rang the doorbell over and over. "You were watched to-night by Blueskin. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. 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. Through a blur of tears Ruth followed the rocking light until it vanished. After all, his was a pleasant face, and a pleasant voice, and very likely Annabel had behaved badly.
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