I dare say anything seemed better to her than the nun’s habit she had been obliged to use. It’s not you—not a bit. And an Englishman, which is my right of birth. The glance, which he threw at the door, was singularly expressive of his character: it was a mixture of alarm, effrontery, and resolution. ” She dropped back into a crouching attitude and began to weep. He devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her breast against the imitation silk, his memory still exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt. The curtain before one mystery was torn aside, and she saw in reality what lay behind the impulse that had led her into the young man's room.
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