Part 8 And as she sat on her bed that night, musing and half-undressed, she began to run one hand down her arm and scrutinize the soft flow of muscle under her skin. Then Manning flopped back in his chair and dropped his chin like a man shot. Not Trodger. “We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions. You’re a far cry from your usual gloomy self these days. I have been the vicomte’s secretary, remember.
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