The intense darkness added to the terror of the storm. I shall lose my fees and the laced coat. She was a small blonde, not handsome, but with a flair for fashion demonstrated by her elegant chemise gown in the very latest Canterbury muslin, with its low décolletage barely concealed under a fine lawn handkerchief set about her shoulders, and decorated with a mauve satin sash at the waist. There were lines in her face that age had not put there. ‘Oh, we was always in there, miss,’ admitted Joan, moving closer. “I thank you for your advice,” she said. She became aware of the modelling of his ear, of the muscles of his neck and the textures of the hair that came off his brow, the soft minute curve of eyelid that she could just see beyond his brow; she perceived all these familiar objects as though they were acutely beautiful things. This man and he were alike, and about the same age.
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