It now occurred to him that she had always been fully dressed. But you must not imagine me wrapped in melancholy. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. ‘—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. “I got Sydney’s telegram at ten o’clock, and caught the ten-thirty from the Gare du Nord. His long struggle with himself, his avoidance of her were quite unnecessary. There were menacing possibilities; the thought of them set him a-tremble.
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