Every now and then something familiar in her tone, the poise of her head, the play of her eyes startled him. I shall have no faith in future in bolts and bars. Wood hadn't struck me. We looked upon you, my dear Sir John, with reverence, almost with awe. If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically. . It was time to disappear, no more Becks, no more Spaghetti Nights, no more afternoon kisses in the park with John Diedermayer. She felt a new warmth in her blood, a strange sense of elation crept over her.
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