He was wrapped in a laced roquelaure, which he threw off on his entrance into the room. “Dear friend,” she said, “do you not think that you are breaking an unspoken compact? I am very sorry. The uncanny directness of those gray eyes, the absence of diffidence, the beauty of the face in profile (full, it seemed a little too broad to make for perfect beauty), the mellow voice that came full and free, without hesitance, all combined to mark her as the most unusual young woman he had ever met. “Vee,” she said, “come home.
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