The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. "Here's the door. He was conscious of a quickening of his heartbeat and the familiar rise of adrenalin that sent his senses soaring in anticipation. Sometimes she missed her cue and nodded affirmatively when the gesture should have been the reverse; and Prudence would send her a sharp glance of disapproval. “You must be the Miss Pellissier of whom David has told me so much,” he said, shyly.
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