No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem. He liked to be near me, he liked to be near any female, especially a young female. “That is my dream of you,” said Manning, warming. You are infatuated. To love in such a way, it is excessively selfish. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. “Believe what, Michelle?” Lucy asked. Ramage did not know.
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