She could tell that they too would find their legs jutting awkwardly from the petite furniture. He held her hand in his, cupped together like a pair of shells for the rest of the hour. It was Annabel who spoke. You won't have him long. Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. Why had he glanced up—quite in that way?. Still unconscious of anything he did physically. "Stop a minute," cried Jack, detaining his mistresses. It was eleven o'clock.
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