"How is Mr. She sat on the edge of the bed overwhelmed, the roses cradled in her arms. He was walking listlessly along, well-dressed, debonnair, good-looking. I'll repay you. But this was important. She helped Jack to sit down, and dragged the jacket off him, lifting his shirt to expose the gash that had sliced across his side. ‘What the devil for? I’ll have one of the men ride the creature up tomorrow. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her. He sat up in his chair again, the colour came back to his cheeks. In the meanwhile, as he talked, he scrutinized her face, ran his eyes over her careless, gracious poise, wondered hard about her. The flowers and turf, a wild strawberry, a rare butterfly, and suchlike little intimate things had become more interesting than mountains.
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