\"What's that?\" Lucy asked. ‘And that object confirms me in the belief that it is not I who will shortly meet my maker. ‘Do not move, messieurs, or I shall be compelled to blow off your head. They were both conscious, however, that something had intervened between them. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. 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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