“I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. A spot of colour, brighter than any rouge, burned on her cheeks. My heart would speak if it could, for it is very full. The girl’s eyes never left his face. She answered in whispers, for there was the white arm of a woman in the next box peeping beyond the partition within a yard of him.
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