She could feel his breath on her skin, every hair on her arms and neck raised in response. “Wow. ” “You will make me horribly conceited,” he answered. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. Fame of any sort was folly and she knew better. But whenever the storm grew dangerous, either McClintock or Spurlock broke into saving laughter.
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