His fingers closed upon her hand. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. He fell back upon the pillows with a little moan, clutching the slim white fingers fiercely. “I am perfectly certain that that man meant to be rude to me. “And you?” “Same thing. “What I mean is. " "You, Miss Enschede?"—frankly astonished that one stranger should offer succour to another.
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