At this moment, a door was opened below; lights gleamed on the walls; and the figures of Rowland and Sir Cecil were distinguished at the foot of the stairs. She felt his crotch through his jeans. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered. I do not choose the vicomte, for that would be foolish. Old pupil.
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