The lunches were individual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam commandeered from the Victoria. Not much to his surprise, Jack Kimble shook his head. “If I sit here,” he said, standing up before her abruptly, “I shall have to shout. " "There's some one in the garden at this moment," cried Jack; "I saw a face at the window. So good an opportunity may never occur again. “I”—he seemed to have a difficulty with the word—“I love you. He righted a chair and sat in it, his face in his hands. ” “Girls!” cried Ann Veronica.
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