His face was aquiline but sweet, the years had not yet taken the blush from his cheeks and his lips were similarly rubefacient. She got into rows through meddling with their shoes and tennis-rackets, and had moments of carefully concealed admiration when she was privileged to see them just before her bedtime, rather radiantly dressed in white or pink or amber and prepared to go out with her mother. It wouldn’t be you.
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