Kneebone, who was on the point of departing. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. Lucy felt the hairs on her neck rise. "I leave this bowl for you," he cried, returning it to the landlord untasted. She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. “I knew you would feel it,” said Miss Miniver, as they came away flushed and heated.
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