He did his best not to grin. Wood heard the cry. For a long time he stared at the empty doorway. . I have only just left Wych Street. His eyes glowed beneath the glasses and his blue buttondown shirt was reflected in the lenses. ” “That is so,” Anna admitted. “Dyed!” “And your figure?” “One’s corsetière arranges that. But with Gosse and the woman in prison here, there is always the chance that the whole affair may be raked up all over again. It was debauching, this—a devilish art which drew such strange allurements from a face and figure almost Madonna-like in their simplicity. But, not daring to confess his want of comprehension, he made a profound reverence, and retired. A fortnight passed, then a month.
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