For the first time that day, she was finally able to look into his face. Here you are, young, sound, with a heart that will recover in no time, provided you keep liquor out of it. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. She laughed softly, and leaned across the table. “Will you come this way,” she said, “into the drawing-room? There is no one there just now. We have to hang about in the interval. “It is just a look.
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