Never again would he repeat that kiss; but at night when they separated, he would touch her forehead with his lips, and sometimes he would hold her hand in his and pat it. ‘Idiot. “Punctual. You can tell me the rest another time. ‘That’s why I never told Joan Ibstock that you were still with me when I wrote. You have changed from the veriest butterfly to a woman—you wear different clothes, you have the air of another world. She stared out of the paned glass window, watching the trees being blown bare by the gale force.
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