He was a London man of business, spending a small legacy in Paris. “Why are you so distant? Why all the mystery? What are you, a narc? Double-oh-seven or something?” She steeled herself, refusing to react. One glance through the window at that picturesque head had been sufficient. simply lost all hope. She wallowed for a time in the thought of Capes, unable to escape from his image and the idea of his presence in her life. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound.
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