Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. Piercing through every crevice in the clothes, it, in some cases, tore them from the wearer's limbs, or from his grasp. ’ ‘Take care,’ warned Hilary, his eyes on his improvised bandage.
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