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. I promise not to do it again. She became aware that at regular intervals a light flashed upon her face and a bodiless eye regarded her, and this, as the night wore on, became a torment. Her head had been shaved, and around it was swathed a piece of rag, in which a few straws were stuck.
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