Every letter he read and every word, then very methodically set
them back within the faded blue ribbon and sat staring down at them with
eyes wider open than usual--eyes that saw back into the past. And as he
sat thus, staring at what had been, he repeated a sentence to himself
over and over again at regular intervals, speaking with a soft
inflection none had ever heard from him before:
"Poor little Maggie--poor little kid!"
CHAPTER XLII
TELLS HOW RAVENSLEE BROKE HIS WORD AND WHY
"Past eleven o'clock, dear," said Hermione.
"Still so early?" sighed Ravenslee.
They were sitting alone in the fire glow, so near that by moving his
hand he could touch her where she sat curled up in the great armchair;
but he did not reach out his hand because they were alone and in the
fire glow, and Hermione had never seemed quite so alluring.
"How cosy a fire is--and how unnecessary!" she sighed contentedly.
"I'm English enough to love a fire, especially when it is unnecessary,"
he answered.
"English, dear?"
"My mother was English; that's why I was educated in England.
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