Emile looked at her, then down, and clearly caught the bright gleam on the floor. Away in London even now Capes was packing and preparing; Capes, the magic man whose touch turned one to trembling fire. He dug about in his mind for a term to fit her, and he came upon the word new. Rollo began to cavort. “Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee. You were wide the mark, physically; otherwise you had him pat. Perhaps she might never come back to that breakfast-room again.
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