” “It is Number 8, Cavendish Square,” she answered simply. The ruffled chemise-front under the wide lapels of her waistcoat and jacket no longer quivered, and her pose, with the full cloth petticoat spreading about her, was relaxed. She could tell that he was leering at her. . But he wrote on. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful. I saw him yesterday, and he told me he shouldn't stir from home for a week to come. En tout cas, we are not talking of that kiss, but of this one.
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