” Brendon was not inclined to be led away from the point. She would not be driven in by this persistent, sneaking aggression. Some of the delicate colour which the afternoon walk had brought into her cheeks had already returned. With this person—who was no other than Mr. “Dear John,” she whispered. The stranger looked at him as if strongly disposed to chastise his impertinence. “But your hair,” he gasped.
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