His brows drew a little nearer together. You seemed to me to be slipping and slipping, and your face was white. “It’s odd—I have no doubt in my mind that what we are doing is wrong,” he said. But if his frame was immature, his looks were not so. It's your eagerness that bothers me. ’ She sniffed and swallowed. She refused coffee, though she knew that anyhow she was doomed to a sleepless night. He drew her to him with his hands upon her waist. Everything had stayed the same during the centuries. She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate. If such a thing in connexion with him had been possible they would have declared that he was in a towering rage. On the floor was a handkerchief, a little morsel of lace.
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