ToC Thames Darrell's arm having been submitted to the scrutiny of Mrs. Wood, meantime, had not remained idle. There was a brief pause, a crowded pause, between them. There are many things which I do not understand. ‘—and I love your raven hair, and your bright blue eyes, and your very kissable lips—’ suiting the action to the words ‘—and I love the crazy way you speak English, and the way you curse at me. Sometimes I tremble, Anna, to think how near I came to passing through life without a single glimpse, a moment’s revelation of this greatest and most awful of mysteries, the mystery of primaeval nature. It has been very humiliating. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. None at all. “Always has been,” said Ogilvy.
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