He would have risen again, but for the significance of the action. For the first time he seemed to wonder what it might be that she had to confess. Don't be frightened of her. They had much to talk about, or rather Miss Prudence had. In this state Mrs. Only sat, staring at him, a puzzled look in her face. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade.
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