Spurling, you're a witness to the bet. Griffin. The other kicked over the traces a bit, made rather a hit with her singing at some of those French places, and went the pace in a mild, ladylike sort of way. What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery.
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