The ball passed over his head, and lodged in the ceiling. As he passed out he saw in the hall a quietly dressed man with keen grey eyes, talking to one of the footmen. ‘You should not kiss me at all, and undoubtedly I should kill you. “Steady on!” he cried. I’ve never had a homemade Thanksgiving meal like that. ’ A gleam of rare humour slid into Charvill’s chest. Then a light seemed to break in upon him.
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