It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. As he passed out he saw in the hall a quietly dressed man with keen grey eyes, talking to one of the footmen. “May I be allowed to say,” he declared, “that I came here with the same intention. She stood face to face with him, and his voice cut across her speech and made her stop abruptly.
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