In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. For just as though a vague likeness is sometimes borne swiftly in upon one, so a vague dissimilarity between the face on the poster and the heroine of his thoughts had slowly crept into his consciousness. “There’s endless reasons, no doubt, why we shouldn’t,” he said. She turned to Lucilla, a plea in her face.
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