Her eyes were lit with a gleam of humour. For aught I know, they may be in the neighbourhood at this moment. She sensed that he was looking for her. He kissed her fingers and grinned. Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony. ‘Alors, you make a game with me, I see that. They were so nearly alike that the difference would be due to a shaky hand.
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