‘How could I know that it is you?’ She peered at him in the darkness. During all their long comradeship he had never so much as ventured to hold her fingers. It had, as it were, blown up at the concussion of his first step. "What's your name?" he said, addressing the audacious lad, who was looking about him as coolly as if nothing material was going on. She fought a compulsive urge to yank his shirt free. She took the tray with both hands, gulped, and gave way to tears.
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