“Why not?” Lady Lescelles answered. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. She continued to fan herself. Then as she lay very still, with her hands clinched and her black hair tumbled about her face, he came still closer and softly kissed the nape of her neck. And she seemed always to keep one eye on Ann Veronica’s dress. ’ ‘Ah, non?’ Her voice was neutral. Like stealing.
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