” “Your priestess,” whispered Ann Veronica, softly. ‘Imbecile. ” She had a moment of sheer panic at the thing she had done. 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. Then for a time she forgot the Fadden affair altogether. It was difficult to get right.
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