She gathered her black purse, a pointless thing made of cardboard covered in sateen and bejeweled with an assortment of rhinestones. The night had swallowed him up, but his work on her was done. White’s surprise as she swung easily down the room, followed by the two young men, she smiled a careless explanation at her. Until that was done a certain experience of life assured him that a girl is a locked coldness against a man’s approach. She inhaled a deep breath of air—London air. A. “I am under police surveillance,” she said.
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