He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. He had conveyed it to her, not verbally, but by means of a letter, which seemed to her a singularly ignoble method of prohibition. ‘Come, I am concerned merely for your safety, you know. Love and lavender, he thought, perhaps wistfully. “I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen.
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