She looked from Anna, who was far too nice-looking to be travelling about alone, to that reassuring pile of luggage, and wrinkled her brows thoughtfully. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. “You heard no pistol-shot?” “None. Wood strained his eyes to catch a glimpse of the flying skiff. Her back arched and she felt herself instinctively sinking into him.
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