His fears supplied him with unwonted vigour. He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical. ‘No, you don’t. He drew out the check and the editorial letter. ” “Do you think he’ll come after you?” “Why would he do that? It has been three hundred 239 years.
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