"What proof have you of the truth of this story?" inquired Trenchard. She would look up, shake her head, and then go back to her reading or crewelwork. For awhile he watched the revolving light on Copeley's. Jests are not for seasons like this. It saved me the bother of being studied. She did not resist him, she could not. She answered in whispers, for there was the white arm of a woman in the next box peeping beyond the partition within a yard of him.
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