Too late she realised that Emile was not trying to escape. It lay undisturbed in the remotest corner of the recess. “One hardly knows—all the time. Such pretty manners, she thought. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. Her father was holding her waist, smiling. ’ ‘But that would make her half French,’ Hilary pointed out.
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