She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. ‘Idiot. The last of Jarvis’s harlots must have departed in a hurry, for she had apparently left a roomful of clothes. To the poor carpenter it seemed an endless distance. ’ A panel slid open and she stepped into the relative light of the little dressingroom, Kimble close behind her.
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