” He bent and kissed her hair and paused, and then forced his attention back to the map. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. ” But now she doubted again of the quality of the armistice they had just made. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. That’s why he was so annoyed, you know. " "Both are dead," observed the knight, gloomily.
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