I struck him across the face, twisted the steering wheel of the motor, sprang out myself, and left him for dead on the road with the motor on top of him. Why had he offered her that kiss on board The Tigress? Perhaps that had been his hour of disenchantment. It was an unspoken curfew in the Beck house on week nights. The little grating in the door, the sense of constant inspection, worried her. “It’s precious unromantic.
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