Ray Plote was most certainly feeling restless, what if he had left the house for the evening? She needed to eat. Conscience drove him to this side of the world, to this bed. “Garçon,” he said, “will you ask the gentleman at the next table if he will do me the honour of taking a glass of wine with me. Her eyes were perhaps a little brighter than usual, the firelight played about her hair, there seemed to him to be a sudden softening of the straight firm mouth.
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