Fortescue?” “At your service. Let him have his honeymoon. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. “You are very kind,” she said hesitatingly, “but I don’t remember—I don’t think that I know you, do I?” “I am afraid that you do not,” he admitted, with a smile which he meant to be encouraging.
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