The young officer sat in front, his hat perfectly straight. His eyes were small and grey; as far apart and as sly-looking as those of a fox. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights. Drummond, who had been about to speak, refrained. Enschede—that's a queer name.
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