At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. ’ ‘The what, miss?’ asked Kimble, frowning. They had been playing tennis, with his manifest intention looming over her. She realized that he was the sort of man one does not think much about at dinners. They’ve just got to keep white.
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