He often wanted only to drive with her in the car, both of them staring at the scenery in silence for hours. In no way could he be said to contribute to the gaiety of the little party. By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait. “Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee.
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