She launched into a stuffy Partita 89 and played it too fast. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it. “I’ve got—I have to tell you this to make myself clear—a streak of ardent animal in my composition.
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