She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. Her figure was perfect,—tall, graceful, rounded,—and, then, she had deep liquid blue eyes, that rivalled the stars in lustre. Red velvet curtains rustled under dim lights as the door shut with a heavy snap. “Don’t be an ass, Ferringhall,” he said tersely. But you——” Something seemed to catch his breath.
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