Brendon was silent. There are some papers I have to look through to-night—important papers. "You will be wanting your broth, Hoddy," she said. He took a handful of almonds and raisins that she held out to him—for both these young people had given up the practice of going out for luncheon—and kept her hand for a moment to kiss her finger-tips. Like a trollop in heat. "Relating to the father of the boy—Thames Darrell," supplied Jonathan.
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