For Miles there’d have to be. Because he had no intention of ever giving up. He knew what he wanted, he meant to have it. The whole, or half, or whatever there was to be won at last. He was never going to settle for any substitute.
And Annet, whole or broken, sick or convalescent, had her values right. Sooner or later she’d recognise what it was she was being offered.
‘All right, forget it,’ said Tom. ‘You go ahead your own way. And good luck!’
Miles said: ‘Thank you!’ and for a moment it was touch-and-go whether he would add: ‘sir!’ It was on the tip of his tongue, but he snatched it back generously, flashing for one brief instant the engaging and impudent smile he had inherited from Eve. Then he turned, patient, stubborn and profoundly sure of himself, and went in to Annet with his roses.
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[scanned anonymously in a galaxy far far away]
[A 3S Release— v1, html]
[July 16, 2007]