“Well,” he said, argumentatively, “it IS. Got detained in the City, and——” Then he met the fixed, breathless gaze of those wonderful eyes from the other side of the table, and he, too, broke off in the middle of his sentence. A beachcomber in embryo, and she had lent a hand through habit as much as through pity. That would be myself, or if she lived, Mary’s daughter.
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