” He put his hands on her shoulders and lowered her onto the flat surface of the picnic bench. He left that arid rule clear of the least mist of refinement or delicacy. . ‘You cannot mean General Charvill?’ ‘That old martinet?’ exclaimed Roding. The action steadied him; and there was a phase of irony, too, that helped. Her eyes were lit with smouldering passion. John eased off. I think it inadvisable—I don’t want an intimacy to spring up between you and a man of that type.
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