She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. “Do you think he’s still around?” She paused thoughtfully. They had scrubbed and dusted, torn down and hung up until noon. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left. She would compose extremely lucid and honorable explanations. “I want two words—with Miss Pellissier alone,” Hill pleaded. I’ve told you that practically already. linked image back linked image back MADEMOISELLE AT ARMS Elizabeth Bailey © 2011 by Elizabeth Bailey All rights reserved. "If I could work as fast as you, I might afford to be as idle.
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