There was no sense in creating further difficulties for herself by arguing with the sergeant over her identity. "I believe he's gone," he said, returning to Jonathan. Both arm-chairs had been moved a little so as to face each other on either side of the fender, and in the circular glow of the green-shaded lamp there lay, conspicuously waiting, a thick bundle of blue and white papers tied with pink tape. She met him by the dugout after the game. There was the same airy grace of movement, the same deep brown hair and alabaster skin. ‘Idiot. He would have risen again, but for the significance of the action. It would be too mortifying.
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