Their heads touched again, their arms tightened. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. She turned quickly. Yesterday!—who cared? To-morrow!—who knew? "Porpoise," she said, touching his hand. Then she went back and mixed up the sheets in a search for particular passages. The first of these, whom he addressed as Mr.
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