Her name was Rhea. Besides ——” She stopped short. “No, I mean that we should assemble ourselves in case your parents arrive home. Speaking of mean, you watch out for Kate Bitchster. Her heart was beating with quite unaccustomed vigour, her hands were hot, she was conscious of a warmth in her blood which the summer sunshine was scarcely responsible for. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves. Why not? Imagine I’ve had a fit of hysteria—and that I’ve come round.
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