A vague desire to justify himself ruffled her father. Whatever he did, she was bound to scream. The girl who had just left the room was as great a mystery to him now as on the afternoon when he had met her in Piccadilly and taken her to tea. . ‘What the devil do you think you’re doing?’ protested Hilary angrily. “What is the exact force of a motif?” she asked at random.
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