“Do you mean in looks?” she asked. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful. All the initial confidence in herself was gone; her courage was merely a shell to hide the lack. "All right," he said. She was standing before a window, against the background of the rain-burdened April sky. The idea of leaving for Mexico had become unbearable, as he was so easy to like and perhaps even easier to love. 175 “Before you tell me the whole story,” she emphasized the penultimate word, “just let me do something for you. It seemed at first the most beautiful afternoon of all time to her, and perhaps the thrill of her excitement did add a distinctive and culminating keenness to the day. You must come and tell me all about it, although I am not sure whether we shall forgive you for not having written to any of us. ’ ‘Tchah! Better a doubtful welcome here than a confounded French convent. " "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell.
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