So the talk went on, and presently they were criticising novelists, and certain daring essays of Wilkins got their due share of attention, and then they were discussing the future of the theatre. Her eyes followed him. Her eyes flashed and she withdrew the dagger, pulling away from him. It would surely be only common politeness to drop her a hint—a fellow countrywoman too. “Our ways happened to lie together. “You’re not interested in politics?” he asked, almost with a note of protest. We leave England to-night. I shall like to think of it—whenever I feel dull.
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