Entranced, he stared at the name. “I had those beautiful roses from you on my first night, and a tiny little note but no address. The sound of their strident voices floated upwards, the high nasal note of the predominant Americans, the shrill laughter of girls quick to appreciate the wit of such of their male companions as thought it worth while to be amusing. She was to fall back amongst the ruck, a young woman of talent, content perhaps to earn a scanty living by painting Christmas cards, or teaching at a kindergarten. His perception of her personal beauty deepened and quickened with each encounter. He then mounted the jaded hack, which had long since regained its legs, and was quietly browsing the grass at the road-side, and, striking spurs into its side, rode off. "I'm surprised you've not asked that question before, Sir Rowland.
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