She occupied a small sofa, a little apart, a ruddy-complexioned gentleman some years her senior beside her, and glanced about with an air of considerable unease. I met a Hindu a few weeks ago who was a Harvard man. Outside in the hall he paused and thoughtfully stroked his smooth blue chin. He forgot Annabel’s idle attempts at love-making, all the cul-de-sac gallantry of the moment. His inclinations prompted him most decidedly to take the vacant chair. “His dress for no man lays a snare; A man scores always, everywhere.
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