“I am under police surveillance,” she said. And behind— there was Paris, memories of amazing things, memories which made his cheeks burn and his heart beat quickly as he sat there waiting for her. The houses loomed progressively larger as one strode up the block, growing from ranch to two-story, from squat 1950's modern to stately 1890's palace. A chain, riveted to an iron belt encircling her waist, bound her to the wall. Marina had retired to bed, drinking wine slowly, sleeping when she was not drinking. Tender with the sick, firm with the strong, fearless, with a body that had the resistance of iron, there was nothing of the hypocrite in him.
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