A faint, delightfully humorous smile parted her lips. But her request was unheeded. He had come to Anna’s rooms from a dinner party, and he was in evening dress. She glanced at him. You come to England, and hide in a secret convent in London. Cheveney was another Paris friend, was he?” she asked. She slid her cheek down the tweed sleeve of his coat. "My head fairly turns round. She moaned as his lips caressed her neck, almost to where the dress met her shoulder.
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