She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. Brendon’s guests,” she said, “and I scarcely think it would be nice of me to leave him alone with Sydney. “Yes. And here she was—in a mess because it had been impossible for her to avoid leaning upon another man. That is what I’ve had on my conscience. She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate. She always managed to get back to the bungalow before he did. Joan told me it was hung somewhere in the house, only I couldn’t remember where after all this time. At least one of them was caught and put away. She saw it, and checked without thinking.
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