Do you want me, too?” “Yes,” she whispered foolishly, in the throes of rapture. "Thames!—Thames!" cried Winifred, rushing to the window. Ever hear of the djinn in the bottle? Like enough. Please don’t let any one know that. As she talked she made weak little gestures with her hands, and she thrust her face forward from her bent shoulders; and she peered sometimes at Ann Veronica and sometimes at a photograph of the Axenstrasse, near Fluelen, that hung upon the wall. She became eager to explain herself, to show herself in the right light. Capes became rigid and adhesive.
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