His fingers closed upon her hand. She closed her eyes and felt again an echo of the swamping warmth that had attacked her when his lips met hers. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. But when she was thinking it over in her room that evening vague and baffling doubts came drifting across this conviction. There is no other way.
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