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Walpole, Hugh, Sir, 1884-1941

"The Captives"

. .
She saw him give a little impatient jerk of the head, the same
movement that she had seen him make in Chapel. That jerk set her in
motion again, and she was suddenly at his side. She touched his arm;
he turned and his eyes lit with pleasure. They smiled at one another
and then, without a word, moved off towards the park. He took her
arm and put it through his. She felt the warm thick stuff of the
blue coat, and beneath that the steady firm beat of his heart. They
walked closely together, his thigh pressed against hers, and once
and again her hair brushed his cheek. She was so shy that, until
they were through the gates of the park, she did not speak. Then she
said:
"I was so afraid that Caroline would not give you the note."
"Oh, she gave it me all right." He pressed her arm closer to him.
"But I expect that she read it first."
"Oh, is she like that?"
"Yes, she's like that . . ."
There was another pause; they turned down the path to the right
towards the trees that were black lumps of velvet against the purple
sky. There were no stars, and it was liquidly dark as though they
ploughed through water.


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