What was the alternative to going home? No alternative appeared in that darkness. But he was a thief, a fugitive from justice. He initiated sex with her, lightly fingering her clitoris as an invitation. “You come into these sordid surroundings—you mustn’t mind my calling them sordid—and it makes them seem as though they didn’t matter. The Frenchman had moved back into Piccadilly from Down Street, at which the lad following him had immediately sauntered away a yard or two. She sat herself upon the bed.
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