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He returned her impressive greeting almost mechanically. “Mr. Rummage, my boy, do. ’ She bit her lip, frowning. We ourselves have been similarly circumstanced. Of course, if at any time—see reason—alter your opinion. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. To her horror she realized that she had nearly forgotten how to kiss after a years-long dry spell, and she could detect drool on her own chin and John’s cheek. Pure luck! If the boy had grown a moustache or a beard, a needle in the haystack would have been soft work. But—he was cleverer than any of you.
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