"She considers her future blasted beyond hope. “We pretend bodies are ugly. " Prudence felt the hands stiffen oddly; and again the thought came to her that perhaps this poor child's father had once been, perhaps still was, in the same category as this Taber. "But don't wait for me, Sir Cecil. He leaned towards her as though anxious to see more of her face than that faint delicate profile gleaming like marble in the uncertain light. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure.
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