Somehow, the presence of these two
did much to soothe the mental irritation which Miller had set up in him.
They at least were of the world of understandable things. Miller,
slouching in his chair, with a cheap tie-clip showing underneath his
waistcoat, a bulging mass of sock descending over the top of his boot,
rolling a cigarette with yellow-stained, objectionable fingers, still
involved him in introspective speculation as to real values in life.
"I have often felt myself unfortunate in not having met you before, Miss
Miall," he said. "Some of your writings have interested me immensely."
"Some of them?" she queried, with a smile.
"Absolute agreement would deny us even the stimulus of an argument," he
observed. "Besides, after all, men find it more difficult to get rid of
prejudices than women."
She leaned forward to help herself to a cigarette and he studied her for
a moment. She was a little under medium height, trimly yet almost
squarely built. Her mouth was delightful, humourous and attractive, and
her eyes were of the deepest shade of violet, with black, silken
eyelashes.
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