"Do you know you are the most beautiful thing on earth? It
is a lucky thing we are going to live in England, and that these
are sober, matter-of-fact days, or I should find myself committed
to fighting duels all the time."
She had a momentary relapse. A look of terror suddenly altered
her face. She caught at his wrist.
"Don't!" she cried. "Don't talk about such things!"
He was a little bewildered. The moment passed. She laughed
almost apologetically.
"Forgive me," she begged, "but I hate the thought of fighting of
any sort. Some day I'll explain."
"Clumsy ass I was!" he declared, completing his task and setting
the result before her. "Now how's that for a first course?
Drink a little of your wine."
He leaned his glass against hers.
"My love," he whispered, "my love now, dear, and always, and
you'll find it quite strong enough," he went on, "to keep you
from all the ugly things. And now away with sentiment. I had a
very excellent but solitary breakfast this morning, and it seems
a long time ago."
"It seems amazing to think that you spent last night at The
Sanctuary," she reflected.
"And that you and I were in a punt," he reminded her, "in the
pool of darkness where the trees met, and the lilies leaned over
to us."
"And you nearly upset the punt.
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