He righted a chair and sat in it, his face in his hands. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. She responded as he slipped his hands under her sweater. Michelle laughed, saying that she could only guess.
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