She thought she had hidden well from him. She had expected a love story; and love was totally absent. “Not a bit of it,” he said; “it’s only a score in a game. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. Spurling, who had been hastily compounding another bowl of punch. “Look round the table,” she said. "I have nothing. He was a large oafish man, a man that seemed deceptively harmless, and some thought him slightly retarded. He bore it as long as he could, watching all the time with fascinated eyes Annabel moving gracefully about amongst her guests, always gay, with a smile and a whisper for nearly everybody. You’ve got me. I will take her back.
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