Feigning an air of casualness, Lucy asked the obvious. “It’s the stir of spring,” he said. His heart was beating, but faintly and slowly, with ominous intermissions. “I can’t imagine it,” said Miss Miniver. Also she had tried him as a dragoman and as a gendarme, which seemed the most suitable of all to his severely handsome, immobile profile. Perhaps she might never come back to that breakfast-room again. “Won’t you have some more tea, Mr.
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