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 He remembered France; the days they had spent together, and the long evenings in starlight, and the evening he had strolled beside her on a terrace while Majendie tinkered with the car. It was a chilly evening, and she kept drawing her furs together and said very little. The night after, he had lain awake listening to her voice and Majendie's in the next room, and making up his mind to go to India.

"Yes," he said. "Now, will you let me have the papers and we could go through them now? I could take any that are urgent back to town with me; I shall be there in a week."

She twisted her hands irresolutely. "Could you come to-morrow, before you go? I would have them ready for you then, if you can spare the time. I'm tired this evening; I don't believe I would be able to understand them. Do you mind?"

"No, of course not. But may I come in the morning? I am going away early in the afternoon."

She nodded slowly, looked away from him and did not speak. She was evidently very much tired.