"She's glorious!" He knew that he must hoodwink this keeneyed Scot, even as he must hoodwink everybody: publicly, the devoted husband; privately, the celibate. One doesn’t want to lose a grain. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. Sorry. Wood turned to look at him. “What were you trying to do?” Lucy asked. “I detest amateurs. He reached the top floor and ran down the corridor to the little dressing room at the end where he had lost her before.
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