Her sense followed the shoulders under his coat, down to where his flexible, sensitive-looking hand rested lightly upon the table. “She has been to my flat before. ” Lucy would always press her face into her mother’s skirts when she heard the ending, no matter how many times she heard it. Her body rose up to meet his in a cat-like stretch and she smiled. She seemed smitten with a paroxysm of fear. "A bad girl?" She put the question as she would have put any question—leveleyed and level-toned.
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