For this three weeks had been the hardest of her life. She never touched the manuscript with pencil, but jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left them where he might easily find them. No more did she offer her forehead for the good-night kiss. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. "Quick. “It’s okay. \" She was surprised that he had noticed her existence as early as her arrival at the Beck house.
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