Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. Yet she took with her an uneasy consciousness that in this affair might lie the germs of future trouble. . . ‘Oh no, you don’t,’ said Gerald in a low tone. “Don’t befool me any more,” he answered, almost roughly. But he seized the chance to entrap her fingers, fan and all, and look deeply into her eyes.
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