F. ” She lingered over her tea, and glancing around, a sudden reflection on the change in her surroundings from the scene of her last night’s supper brought a faint, humorous smile to her lips. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. We are in love. He would discuss something she had been reading, and he would give her some unexpected angle, setting a fictional character before her with astonishing clearness. Come along, master. The father, granite; the daughter, fire: Spurlock saw the one and heard the other, his amazement indescribable. Anywhere! Moonlight and music—pleasing, you know, but quite unnecessary. Her hormones were raging stupidly. I am aware that you ran away from there, but—’ ‘Certainly I ran away,’ she said, meeting his gaze with defiance in her own.
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