Still, her face never betrayed this distraction. Next moment, she had shut the bookshelf panel upon him. Why, then, did he touch it? As he climbed heavily into his chair, she was able to note the little beads of sweat under the cracked nether lip. She went to a writing-desk and made some memoranda on a sheet of note-paper, and then remembered that she had no address as yet to which letters could be sent. ‘You would have a history of my life? Very well.
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