She liked the high, easy swing of the thing over its big wheels, the quick clatter-patter of the horse, the passage of the teeming streets. “Pellissier,” she repeated thoughtfully. At last his voice came to release her tension. Here they would be having lunch. His hand traveled below her loose neckline, and he cupped her round breast in his hand. She almost laughed, but repressed her smile lest it seem cruel. ‘You’ve found her out?’ ‘Tell us at once,’ urged Miss Froxfield.
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