Her hormones were raging stupidly. Two children, who had been caught in the jam-closet: ingratiating smiles, back of which lay doubt and fear. Several prisoners were taken, but the ring-leaders escaped. “See that man?” Sebastian would tap her on the shoulder on a crowded alleyway and say, “See how he lingers too long when he touches that little child? The glow in his eyes? That is lustful intent, my dear. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. She left them and went back to Sebastian, never uttering a word about her visit. It ceased to be the symbol of liberty and a remote and quite abstracted person, and became suddenly and very disagreeably the token of a large and portentous body visible and tangible. He could have her in the car but she preferred a more private setting. It was just then that she came face to face with Nigel Ennison. ‘Certainly this is true,’ she managed.
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