I am fairly well hardened in iniquity—your iniquity, Annabel—but I decline to have a husband thrust upon me. Better come another morning. . The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. She became aware of the modelling of his ear, of the muscles of his neck and the textures of the hair that came off his brow, the soft minute curve of eyelid that she could just see beyond his brow; she perceived all these familiar objects as though they were acutely beautiful things. ’ ‘And was not she put out?’ demanded Miss Froxfield with a tinkling laugh.
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