Forgetting the dark thoughts of his last brush with the girl, he dropped the dagger back in his pocket, quickened his pace, and went back into the house to look for his hostess. He allowed his voice to drip with sympathy. Captain Hilary Roding and his inamorata, Miss Lucilla Froxfield. Never again would he repeat that kiss; but at night when they separated, he would touch her forehead with his lips, and sometimes he would hold her hand in his and pat it. I don’t conceal it.
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