” Sir John stamped his letters, brushed his hat, and carefully gave his moustache an upward curl before the looking-glass. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left. His voice had broken. I see them hanging out in the halls together all the time. A familiar ache of wanting made itself more insistent in her belly.
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