“I’m not that beautiful. ” She was frightened—his anger always did frighten her—and in her resolve to conceal her fright she carried a queen-like dignity to what she felt even at the time was a preposterous pitch. “That sounds so uncouth,” she murmured. So far the boy's mind was clear. Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms. Sir John looked about him, and somehow the laugh died away.
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