She had removed her hat and utterly disarranged her already unruly black locks by running agitated fingers through them. " "A jewel-case!" exclaimed Jonathan. And then at the street corner she came face to face with Nigel Ennison. They said no more for a moment, and each was now acutely aware of the other. She was a large, resilient girl, with a foolish smile, a still more foolish expression of earnestness, and a throaty contralto voice. “My charm of manner, I suppose. He's nice.
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