It would be an ice storm by midnight if it did not let up. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. Just as he completed this operation, the file broke. "Your uncle, Sir Rowland?" "It is no idle boasting," replied the other. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left. Shari smiled and Mike whispered to her. He succeeded so well that by the time he asked for her name once more, she fluttered her lashes as coquettishly as ever. She put her hand in his to be squeezed. Her gown was minimalist compared to those concoctions of boning and lace of long ago, she reflected, but that did not stop it from getting caught on 134 brambles and twigs.
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