Kneebone and his Friends V. " "You are right," replied Darrell; "the weakness is past. “Agreed,” he said with queer exaltation, and his grip tightened on her hand. No one spoke to her. He sucked at her neck, biting her hard, leaving red marks that disappeared as soon as he made them. He was damned if he knew what to do. “Forgive you, indeed. ‘How could I know that it is you?’ She peered at him in the darkness. I needn't tell you to tread carefully. Even in her painting smock and with her disarranged hair, the likeness between the two girls was marvellous. He regretted— more deeply than he could say—the occurrence of this evening.
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