She was dressed as English girls do dress for town, without either coquetry or harshness: her collarless blouse confessed a pretty neck, her eyes were bright and steady, and her dark hair waved loosely and graciously over her ears. “What are you doing?” he asked. The word "criticism" had no concrete meaning to her then; no more than "compromise. ‘I was just looking the place over when I heard you calling out.
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