"Fold it … under the pillow. The crowning aspect of the incident, for her mind, was the discovery that he and her indiscretion with him no longer mattered very much. "He has heard of your wonderful escapes, and wishes to see what you're like. It has. He looked at his friend. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. Not all of us, but some of us. Her figure was perfect,—tall, graceful, rounded,—and, then, she had deep liquid blue eyes, that rivalled the stars in lustre. It took all my self control not to let my hands wander. Arrived at Paddington, he struck across Marylebone Fields,—for as yet the New Road was undreamed of,—and never moderated his speed until he reached the city. ” “I understand,” he said, doggedly.
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