She wished he could smoke and dull his nerves a little. ‘But then again, possibly not. Bête, she told herself fiercely. She never questioned the motives of the characters; she had neither the ability nor the conceit for that; but she could and often did correct his lapses in colour. She noticed that this trunk was not littered with hotel labels. She turned quickly. ‘Comment? What do you wish?’ ‘What the devil do you think you’re up to now, I’d like to know?’ Her eyes flashed.
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