Yes—as he would have liked. ‘Jacques, where are you hurt?’ But as she asked the question, she saw the wound. Tickle the ears of their reverences with any idle nonsense you please: but tell them nothing you care to have repeated. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left. There was no mistaking his intentions this time.
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