They sat on a wooden bench that overlooked the less aromatic part of the lake, deeper and not as frequented by geese. ” “And you?” asked David Courtlaw. The clerk at the Raffles Hotel had accorded her but scant interest. He had not taken many steps when he perceived Quilt Arnold in the upper gallery, with a lamp in his hand. Her eyes were soft and blue, arched over by dark brows, and fringed by long silken lashes. A moment more and he would have been crushed beneath the ponderous board, when a slight but strong arm arrested its descent. . She realized that he was the sort of man one does not think much about at dinners.
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