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Sinclair, Bertrand W., 1881-1972

"The Hidden Places"

I never will.
It isn't in me. I'm just as eager to get all I can out of life as I
ever was. I liked you long ago. I like you still. That's all there is
to it, Robin."
She shifted herself nearer him. She put one hand on his shoulder, the
other on his knee, and bent forward, peering into his face. Hollister
matched that questioning gaze for a second. It was unreadable. It
conveyed no message, hinted nothing, held no covert suggestion. It was
earnest and troubled. He had never before seen that sort of look on
Myra's face. He could make nothing of it, and so there was nothing in
it to disturb him. But the warm pressure of her hands, the nearness of
her body, did trouble him. He put her hands gently away.
"You shouldn't come here," he said quietly. "I will call a spade a
spade. I love Doris--and I have a queer, hungry sort of feeling about
the boy. If it happens that in spite of our life together Doris can't
bear me and can't get used to me, if it becomes impossible for us to
go on together--well, I can't make clear to you the way I feel about
this.


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