She moved her hand off of his knee, deliberately slow. Several people were passed out on the sectional sofa, and muffled noises emanated from other rooms indicating that the party’s embers were still smoldering, but John was nowhere to be seen. Instinct had forced her to create something out of rags to satisfy a mysterious craving. Her head swam. She drifted northward from the Strand, and came on some queer and dingy quarters. Because for the punishments je m’en moque. ‘I rather gathered as much,’ said Miss Froxfield, releasing her hands.
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