‘I think,’ he said pleasantly, ‘that it would be as well if you, Hilary, were to go and fetch the troops. Jackson, mean time, produced a pocket-book; and, after deliberately sharpening the point of a pencil, began to write on a blank leaf. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. He got out of the car and lifted her from the convertible before she could open the door. Strange, demure-looking young woman, with wonderful complexion and eyes, and a style about her, too.
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