‘But what is it that amuses you, Jacques?’ Kimble’s grin spread wider. If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically. I'm a graybeard, an old bachelor; so I am accorded certain privileges. She interrupted. She closed her eyes as if asleep, her hands folded neatly on her abdomen. Keep his arms down. Blood, they say, won't come out.
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