I don't believe his name is Taber. Jack Kimble nodded eagerly. Michelle's home was one of the smaller palaces, made solidly of red brick with charming black shutters and window boxes full of drooping violets. For the first time that day, she was finally able to look into his face. Her aunt had secretly sent on to Ann Veronica some new warm underclothing, a dozen pairs of stockings, and her last winter’s jacket, but the dear lady had overlooked those boots. A new restlessness seemed to have stolen in upon her.
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