‘Seems quiet enough,’ observed the junior officer, his gaze raking the shuttered windows of the building’s grey stone frontage. He was shifting to reach his own weapon, which had fallen in between the pews at the back. “Yet it is my last evening, and I think —if you are sure that you would like to have me—that I will risk it. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times.
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