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He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. The music confused and distracted her, and made her struggle against a feeling of intoxication. John’s parents were won over. Somehow her walk home with him had been transmogrified into a melodramatic rejection, a slamming. How she had coveted her mother’s beauty and sought to emulate it, if only to please her. There is a button loose on that coat under your pillow. “Who from?” She met his eye for a second and her heart failed her. ‘Not yet, madame.
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