He devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her breast against the imitation silk, his memory still exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt. “I think,” he said, “that I am right. There was a fourth story; but he never told either Ruth or McClintock about this. He was bringing the sing-song girl to the hotel! The strange cortège presently vanished below the window-sill.
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