” His fingers touched hers for a moment under the ledge of the box. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. The mummies were tossed into the collection. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. ” He put his head on one side, pulled down the corners of his mouth, and looked at her over his glasses.
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