What gave the puzzling twist to an ordinary situation was her manner: she was guileless. He talked with his manner gentle and kindly. "Another moment, and it'll be too late. Her slender throat was encircled by a black riband, with a small locket attached to it; and upon the top of her head rested a diminutive lace cap. But never would any so dishonour himself as to hand a fellow rogue over to the authorities. Actually, he had come all this distance simply to fulfil a certain clause in his contract with Fate, to be in Canton on this particular day. To her horror she realized that she had nearly forgotten how to kiss after a years-long dry spell, and she could detect drool on her own chin and John’s cheek.
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