She never touched the manuscript with pencil, but jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left them where he might easily find them. “I’ll bring it to-morrow. Voilà tout, as Melusine herself would say. It feels like too much gold-dust clutched in one’s hand. Even if you pretend sometimes to be without sense. ” “Suppose he comes and talks to me?” “A girl can always keep a man at a distance if she cares to do it. . It’s a sort of blacklegging to want to have a life of one’s own. ” Ennison dropped the evening paper which he had been pretending to read. .
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