Some shadow of reserve seemed to have crept up between them. Ashen blonde, a shade that would never excite the cynical commentary which men applied to certain types of blondes. Jane was a smoldering auburn-haired Irish beauty who seldom spoke to anyone. She could not analyse what was stirring in her: the thought of losing the doll, the dog, and the cat. “I’m still inside you. Master and missis have been talking all day long about Jack Sheppard, and I'm dying to read his life. Only think how compromising. To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven. I picked up her handkerchief on the floor.
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