A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. “You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently. It could only mean one thing—that her foster daughter was both a whore and a murderer! When Sheila confronted her about it, it was five in the morning. “Uh, I think I might, Shari. Hers is quite the most exclusive set in London. He touched her breast as if he was testing the waters of a cold lake. He bowed over her hand, venturing to drop a kiss on it’s leathery surface.
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