I didn’t! I didn’t! After all—” For a time her mind ran on daintiness and its defensive restraints as though it was the one desirable thing. He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. “You’re not a man for me—not one of a sex, I mean. Shoplatch. So you, Jacques, must go and wait for me with the horse. He raised her to a sitting position.
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