"Trenchard," he muttered; "Aliva Trenchard—they were right, then, as to the name. Their flitting hands were always touching. He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table. He came to the door and as he opened it a crack, she pushed herself inside urgently. Oh, the scent of the flowers that day, the delicious quiet, the swallows that dived before us in the river. I shall be very sorry if I cannot have you for a friend.
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