Her depression since the “accident” had possessed her, she no longer cared how she looked as her beauty helped her not. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets. We went to the Embassy. ’ ‘How shocking,’ Gerald returned, grinning. Her fingers found the lump she sought and, with a little effort, she dragged out the black-wrapped foil.
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