She thought of them as fools, but had been sorry to see them go. Now, will you do me the honour of lunching with me, Miss Pellissier?” Anna hesitated. She had been careless. Her evident terror and distress reinforced the tale he told. At times I swear I’ve never met a more jaded fifteen-year-old, and your lie about being sixteen didn’t get by me for one second, believe it. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words.
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