She barely heard a word that Martin or Brown said, until Martin’s voice chimed. Diane spooned warm apple-rhubarb pie onto the girl’s plates, topping each with scoops of ice cream. In the obscurity in which it was now seen, it looked like a prison, and, indeed, it was Jonathan's fancy to make it resemble one as much as possible. He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter.
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