” She smiled grimly at the recollection of that lunch—tea and roll at a cheap café. She could even think of what had happened. She watched as his headlights flooded the driveway and many minutes after his car was gone. . I’m sorry. All the rest is humbug and delicacy. I'm not quite such a greenhorn as Shotbolt, Jack, whatever you may think. They were on their way back home, or so she had thought. I have seen you with Anna, and I have not known whether to be glad or sorry. She was too delicate, too fragile to survive out there. She wanted air—and the distraction of having moving and changing things about her.
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