“You are unjust and quixotic, Anna, you have no right to treat any one as you are treating me. Holding the lamp over her rigid but beautiful features, Jonathan, with some anxiety, placed his hand upon her breast to ascertain whether the heart still beat. So soft. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. Daughters were not like sons. Got detained in the City, and——” Then he met the fixed, breathless gaze of those wonderful eyes from the other side of the table, and he, too, broke off in the middle of his sentence.
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