The terror faded from her eyes. Foolish compliments were tossed about like confetti. ‘And so you sneak back,’ she threw at him, ‘like the jackal that you are. ‘But for my dowry, what else? One cannot expect that an Englishman will marry any jeune demoiselle without a dowry. She responded as he slipped his hands under her sweater. Then he paused. She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with commonsense, his own apprehension.
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