“You didn’t expect that I should kiss you?” “How was I to know that a man would—would think it was possible—when there was nothing—no love?” “How did I know there wasn’t love?” That silenced her for a moment. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. She ignored it until it repeated itself. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. ‘Come, I am concerned merely for your safety, you know.
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