S. 58 \"Why will you not touch me?\" She cried out, sitting up, her head in her hands. The touch of his lips neither thrilled nor alarmed her, because the eyes that looked into hers were clean. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. She felt the thrill race through her body. “Before I came to England I was told that there were two things which an Englishman who was comme-ilfaut never did. The dress came to her only too manifestly unwashed from its former wearer; even the under-linen they gave her seemed unclean.
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