His quiet, kindly smile implied his serene disbelief in any confessible thing. ‘I rather gathered as much,’ said Miss Froxfield, releasing her hands. She rapped again, louder. “Were you thinking of private apartments, a boarding-house or an hotel?” she asked. " "Detained!" echoed Marvel. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. He must fight the thought continually, day in and day out. .
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