He left that arid rule clear of the least mist of refinement or delicacy. ‘But my poor Jacques is wounded and—’ ‘All taken care of,’ interrupted Hilary. He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips. Without hindrance—present occupation. When I'm alone I don't mind.
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