She untucked his starched shirt, running her hands along his smooth torso and underneath his arms. As he gazed down into the courts of the prison, he could not help shuddering, lest a false step might precipitate him below. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. Their very furniture had mysteriously a high-browed quality, and Mr.
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