Martha had the square look of solid English citizenry, which was not deceiving. During all their long comradeship he had never so much as ventured to hold her fingers. Then there came briskly along the path towards her, an Englishman. “Don’t!” she said, weakly, as he had bent down and put one arm about her and seized her hands with his disengaged hand and kissed her—kissed her almost upon her lips.
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