He sat in much the same attitude, and she stood just as she had stood when he told her she could not go to the Fadden Dance. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. In this state, it will be easy to draw him into a snare. What are you after?’ ‘But my pistol and dagger, imbecile,’ she exclaimed impatiently, moving sharply back. She put her clothes back on, 118 lipstick smeared all over her face.
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