Spurlock grew cold. ‘His granddaughter?’ ‘Yes, his son’s daughter. Her whole face stiffened with suppressed anger. Here was the place behind the shed where she had used to hide from Roddy’s persecutions, and here the border of herbaceous perennials under whose stems was fairyland. Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms.
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