She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf. Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed selfpossessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality. In and out of consciousness she sailed, hearing voices from memory that she could not distinguish from reality. Montague Hill. He took her hands firmly in his and raised them to his lips.
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