‘I think,’ he said pleasantly, ‘that it would be as well if you, Hilary, were to go and fetch the troops. The blue jowl, the fat-lidded eyes—now merry, now alert, now tungsten hard—the bullet head, the pudgy fingers and the square-toed shoes were all in conformation with the doctor's olden mental picture. As a matter of fact it isn’t their affair. ’ ‘Merci,’ she sighed and, surrendering at last to his oft-proffered aid, allowed her head to droop onto his chest.
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