“You are in luck, Miss Pellissier,” he declared. She spoke with an entirely false note of cheerful offhandedness. In between naps she increasingly found herself gazing at him, his large nose, his eyes circled in silvery plum shadows, his thin lips parted as he slept baring a rim of perfect teeth. “She must go her own way. This was David Courtlaw, whose ways, too, had never been very different from the ways of other men as regards her sex.
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