It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. ‘Do that again,’ he said softly, ‘and I’ll make you sorry you ever came to England. Then she cursed herself for his eyes went to the letter and came back to her face. ” She thought more and more along that line.
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