Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. Her eyes quizzed the major. ‘The outcome, I think, is in very little doubt. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. ” She was silent, and in the gloom of the dimly lit apartment he could not see her face.
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