The vast mirrored chamber, with its four little square window bays, two either side of the large raised dais that led to the French doors, was very full of company for the start of the Little Season. A single false step might have precipitated him into the street; or, if he had trodden upon an unsound part of the roof, he must have fallen through it. Michelle burst into laughter, followed by John, who almost spit up his cola. Why do I want him so badly? Why do I want him, and think about him, and fail to get away from him? “It isn’t all of me.
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