She could feel his breath on her skin, every hair on her arms and neck raised in response. The sun was all but gone now, the horizon a deep shade of purple. “There,” he said, “you don’t treat me fairly, Miss Stanley. “I don’t think you see,” she replied, with tears on her cheeks, and her brows knitting, “how it shames and, ah!—disgraces me—AH TISHU!” She put down the tray with a concussion on her toilet-table.
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