To find the true father at the expense of the beautiful fairy tale Ruth had woven around the woman in the locket was an intolerable thought. Do you remember when we went right away, Nigel, and forgot everything? We went down the river past Veraz, and the larks were singing all over those deep brown fields, and the river further on wound its way like a coil of silver across the rich meadowland, and along the hillside vineyards. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. The door was then locked, and he was left alone.
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