She closed her eyes and felt again an echo of the swamping warmth that had attacked her when his lips met hers. She was flushed, and her eyes were bright and angry; her breath came sobbing, and her hair was all abroad in wandering strands of black. “I’m not so sure. The young man did not know what he was doing or where he was. You creep around in a nun’s habit, peering into a private ballroom. Ramage,” she said, sharply, “I have to make it plain to you. They can’t help seeing things in the way they do.
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