Kneebone's house, the young man hastened to a hotel in the neighbourhood of Covent Garden, where, having procured a horse, he shaped his course towards the west end of the town. A white house that she often found charming loomed gray and ashen, its gardens shorn for the coming winter. Each became frightfully aware of the other as a plastic energetic body, of the strong muscles of neck against cheek, of hands gripping shoulder-blade and waist. " "Worth anything?" "I don't know. " Sheppard said nothing, but a disdainful smile curled his lips. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that.
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