The ball passed over his head, and lodged in the ceiling. He stopped on the curb-stone, not facing her but as if he was on his way to cross the road, and spoke to her suddenly over his shoulder. ‘Is he meeting you here then, my dear?’ ‘He had better,’ said Lucilla. ‘She ought to be. “It is a hateful story. 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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