” The note of his own voice exasperated him. I want to leave Paris to-day—this very day. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. She sensed his acute frustration as he unzipped her raincoat while trying to kiss her. She slipped it calmly into her pocket. ‘He could have little comfort there, indeed.
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