That was life. She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. But he seized the chance to entrap her fingers, fan and all, and look deeply into her eyes. It seemed as if each time her imagination reached out investingly, an invisible lash beat it back. “Hola Marteen!” She exclaimed cheerfully. “What do you think of that?” he asked. .
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