Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. Giving him a wide berth, and keeping her pistol high, she made her way to the door and warily peered through it. Just what in the world was that about? Before he could hazard a guess, Lucy looked back at him. She slid her cheek down the tweed sleeve of his coat. There was a brief pause, a crowded pause, between them. He did not so much cut into this conversation as loom over it, for he was a tall, if rather studiously stooping, man. But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind. I love him as a brother. " "Pish!" cried Jack: "I don't value his anger a straw. To-night we leave for Marseilles.
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