He turned back at once. He leaned forward to better drink her in. “Listen,” she said. Edward Bribble stood between them with an open book. He's nice. One of the shutters was a trifle damaged, letting in added light. Not that he deliberately courted danger; it was rather the searcher, seeking analysis, the why and wherefore of this or that invading emotion. She had fallen into it naturally, the only expression of the dance she had ever seen or known, and that a stolen sweet.
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