” She was in the bedroom by eleven. The old-fashioned dress, with its series of ruffles and printed flowers, ballooned treacherously, revealing her well-turned leg in silk stockings, as it snapped against her body as a mould. ’ I don’t know what you’d call it —a sort of witchery, almost suggestiveness. My friend the doctor suspected it, and so do I. They’ll know. I should know you—in Heaven or Hell. ’ ‘No.
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