The lighting-up pierced the obscurity of the box, and Ramage stopped his urgent flow of words abruptly and sat back. I was Annabel the rake, ‘Alcide’ of the music halls. Me—I’m nothing but a country wench, and one who went to the bad. She studied her form in the full length mirror, assessed 69 her body as one would that of a prize calf, trying to see it through his eyes, through the eyes of desire. Something in her voice and manner conveyed an effect of unwonted gravity to him. ToC Mrs.
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