"He knows he had to take it. Wood had retired to his own room, where he had just summoned Thames. Her relationship with John had made her the object of desire for scores of teenage boys who had dared not previously think of her in such a way. ” “I say,” she reflected, “you ARE rather the master, you know. Which, let me assure you, villain, will not be so far away. Was there no echo anywhere in Miss Stanley’s pacified brain? Those empty rooms, if they were empty, were the equivalents of astoundingly decorated predecessors. Hitherto, no visiters had been permitted to see him. He thought of her and himself, and no longer in that vein of incidental adventure in which he had begun. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen.
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