Perhaps her odd beauty—and that too was natural—stirred these thoughts into being. Gerald, I mean, not Madame Valade. She dropped on her knees by his side, and gently unbuttoned his waistcoat. "Whatever you like, Hoddy," she agreed, wiping the sweat from her forehead. “I’m five years older than you, and no end wiser, being a man. “Why, among other things, did I put my knuckles in his neck—deliberately to hurt him?” She tried to sound the humorous note.
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