He leaned forward, and looked into the eyes of the woman he loved, and it seemed to him that she sang back to him with a sudden note of something like passion breaking here and there through the gay mocking words which flowed with such effortless and seductive music from her lips. Perhaps her odd beauty—and that too was natural—stirred these thoughts into being. She heard their feet and muffled voices. Wood, with a message for Lady Trafford. And it’s like the petals falling from a flower. " "Professional?" "Why do you wish to know?" "Professional nurses wear a sort of uniform. Ennison,” he said, “it is for you to cut in at Lady Angela’s table.
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