"It's an odd-shaped one," rejoined Kneebone, examining it attentively. “In Paris our lives were far apart, and we had seldom the same friends. Then pain entered their depths. I overheard what Mr. ” He stood looking at the preparations before them with an unusual preoccupation of manner, then roused himself to take her jacket, a little awkwardly, and hand it to the waiter who hung it in the corner of the room. She found she was trembling at his nearness and full of a thrilling dread that he might touch her. Enschede—that's a queer name.
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