Trenchard glanced at the document. From what she could tell, he truly had convinced himself that he was in love with her, but she knew that his ardor would fade eventually inasmuch as she knew John’s would. “They seem to come to you as naturally as disappointment—to other people. ” She smiled at him, an understanding smile, but her words defied him. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them.
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