” He stared at her incredulously, and she laughed very softly. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. She was nestled under his bedspread. “There are a good many Whites in London. He pressed his lips to her with a much greater force than she had anticipated.
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