He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. Once or twice she commented upon it, but she knew that it was resultant of his fear of her impending departure. She looked up and said, a little breathlessly, “I’m sorry, aunt, but I don’t think I can. "Well, Mr. Even Blueskin looked on with anxiety. She had flung away from her father’s support with the finest assumption of personal independence.
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