He felt her warm breath upon his cheek, the perfume of her hair as she leaned over him. He displayed none of the airy optimism of their previous talk over the downland gate. But he was a thief, a fugitive from justice. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers.
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