You did not complain then that I personated you—no, nor when Sir John came to me in Paris, and for your sake I lied. Thunder rumbled behind the manicured hills. She posed herself before her mirror and surveyed herself with gravely thoughtful, gravely critical, and yet admiring eyes. The odds were astounding and yet he had it bad. She closed her eyes and felt again an echo of the swamping warmth that had attacked her when his lips met hers.
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