Like the flaws of an old marble. She was dressed as English girls do dress for town, without either coquetry or harshness: her collarless blouse confessed a pretty neck, her eyes were bright and steady, and her dark hair waved loosely and graciously over her ears. The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. What had she so nearly said? She had almost spoken a name—and quickly withdrawn it. “I was watching you at Morningside Park, dear,” said Miss Miniver.
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