As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. Finally, at the exit into Regent’s Park, they ran against Miss Klegg. And the less “anything” happened the better. Sure, I lose one occasionally—if he stays in New York. I want you to understand clearly that I was indebted to the man in many small ways. Yet the thing hidden within her called and called. It slid off flimsily. His large, coarse lips drew wider apart. “The most important is that I have a new admirer. “Yes, I will go,” she promised, with a queer little smile. Be silent, I say, if you value his safety.
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