The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. I would have married her long ago, but she will not have me. ‘Yes, miss. She saw his eyes glaze over.
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