Once in the room, the door locked, the sense of loneliness had dropped away from her as the mists used to drop away from the mountain in the morning. "Enough's as good as a feast. “If you think it worth while,” she answered doubtfully. She slipped on white thin-soled tennis shoes with no socks, her ankles exposed as Shari had once suggested they be worn. And afterwards! Sir John drew his cigar from his lips, and looked upwards where the white-lights flashed strangely amongst the deep cool green of the lime-trees.
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