So, at least, thought one of two persons who were seated together in a small back-parlour of the house at Dollis Hill. She liked his face; it had on it the suggestion of gentleness, of fineness. Love was joy, and joyous she was when alone. ‘Not if I heard him aright. She could feel her body rebel against her actions, convulsing, so she forced herself to think of her mother in Heaven, her mother's beautiful face, the sun dancing across the rivers of her home.
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