"What is it?" "The night," she answered. ‘Do that again,’ he said softly, ‘and I’ll make you sorry you ever came to England. Stanley,’ I said. She answered weakly, “I’m fine, John. From me. ” “But how?” He was, she thought, a little too insistent. Never again would he repeat that kiss; but at night when they separated, he would touch her forehead with his lips, and sometimes he would hold her hand in his and pat it.
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