. ‘I would read your body,’ he whispered, and lifted her fingers to his lips. ‘So this is Pottiswick’s French spy. “It seems so unfair,” she said, “to take all you offer me and give so little in return. But he has since acquitted you of any share in it. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait. Even Capes had been for her merely an excitant to passionate love—a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoy imaginative wallowings.
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