But all of that was forgotten. ‘I’ll take wine,’ the lady said briefly, turning back instantly to Hilary. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father. "There's Sharples," cried Quilt. “What a little brick!” he murmured. He waved a hand toward the sea. Then—then we shall be together.
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