She smiled and started for the stairs without reply. Beyond was a field sloping steeply upwards, and at the top a small pine plantation. “No, I’m fine. Besides these there was a warm gooseberry-tart, and a cold pigeon pie—the latter capacious enough, even allowing for its due complement of steak, to contain the whole produce of a dovecot; a couple of lobsters and the best part of a salmon swimming in a sea of vinegar, and shaded by a forest of fennel. His bravado waxed and he asked her to what would be her first date in nearly twenty years. Gianfrancesco stumbled belatedly onto the beach, his feet padding wet sand. ‘Who me, sir? Lor’ no, sir. " The feminine vanities in Ruth were quiescent; nothing had ever occurred in her life to tingle them into action.
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