The little grating in the door, the sense of constant inspection, worried her. He took a handful of almonds and raisins that she held out to him—for both these young people had given up the practice of going out for luncheon—and kept her hand for a moment to kiss her finger-tips. "But you've given me what I don't possess. Perhaps that other boy who visited you backstage at the concert. Now, abruptly, they were real again, though very distant, and she had come to say farewell to them across one sundering year. Kneebone, Mrs.
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