. She tiptoed into the entryway where some decorator had placed a live orchid upon a glassy ebony table. He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago. Hugging them, they crept stealthily around the house, Major Alderley leading, and wasting—so his captain acidly commented—a deal of time checking the windows and doors. . She sat in a chair in the parlour and regarded the darkening sky through the small casement window. “What is the exact force of a motif?” she asked at random.
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