“You have even her name. Each became frightfully aware of the other as a plastic energetic body, of the strong muscles of neck against cheek, of hands gripping shoulder-blade and waist. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. “Dear friend,” she said, “do not magnify me into a physiological problem. He sat with folded arms and knitted brows, thinking intently. He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face. She replied softly. Not that he deliberately courted danger; it was rather the searcher, seeking analysis, the why and wherefore of this or that invading emotion.
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