You're getting mixed."
"Not at all. My intellect was never less clouded. In spite of two
glasses of ginger beer, my hand is like a spade--I mean a rock. Insert a
fly in your eye, and I will remove it unhesitatingly."
"I'll take your word for it," said Agatha.
"One of these days I shall compare you to a burst of melody. At the
present moment I am between your dimple and the deep sea."
"The dimple you are," said Agatha, with a smile that promised laughter
with difficulty suppressed.
Amusedly I regarded her.
She was very tastefully dressed. A blue silk coat and a white laced
blouse beneath it, a pale grey skirt of some soft stuff, grey silk
stockings and small grey shoes--these with a hat of crocheted silk that
matched her jersey--suited her pretty figure and the April day to rare
perfection.
Leaning easily against the worn masonry of the balustrade, slight, lithe
and graceful, she was the embodiment of vitality in repose. She stood so
still, but there was a light shining in the brown eyes, that were cast
down and over the parapet, keeping a careful watch for any indication of
Berry's activity, a tell-tale quiver of the sensitive nostrils, an
eagerness hanging on the parted lips, which, with her flushed cheeks,
lent to a striking face an air of freshness and a keen _joie de vivre_
that was exhilarating beyond description.
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