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But there was no feeling of remorse; there was only the sensation of exaltation. “Queer letters he writes,” she said. “I won’t have you quarrelling and crying in the Avenue,” he said. I am clear I want you. She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf. Let’s face it, she hates Missy’s guts. His high brow was what caused all the ladies in town to covet him, it radiated intelligence but also something more primal. “But if my manner tells! I cannot help it if that shows.
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