There was a certain air of forced fortuity in his manner. “What were you doing?” Her voice was a little hysterical. She felt smaller and more adventurous even than she had expected to feel. She was certain he would hear, sleeping in the nearby castle. He had sold half a dozen short tales to thirdrate magazines; but this letter had been issued from a distinguished editorial room, of international reputation. 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. ‘That’s wicked, that is. It wasn’t.
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