‘I must see the lady who is my great-aunt. It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. They walked past his old jungle gym set to a hilly park that dwelled sleepily beyond his house.
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