See paragraph 1. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left. Your fingers are even now as stiff as a schoolgirl’s. The Wastrel did not relish this. He kissed her deeply and hungrily.
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