Sebastian snorted, “If it isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black!” “Your house is host to the lowest forms of life, those without morals! I will no longer allow my children to live 210 in such a house. He devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her breast against the imitation silk, his memory still exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt. She went to the table under the end window at which she had been accustomed to work, and found it swept and garnished with full bottles of re-agents. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. ’ ‘In a way she had been,’ said Prudence.
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