Jonathan smiled contemptuously. ‘But what is it that amuses you, Jacques?’ Kimble’s grin spread wider. She fluttered her eyelashes, and adopted the soulful tone that served her well at times. I keep on thinking of little details and aspects of your voice, your eyes, the way you walk, the way your hair goes back from the side of your forehead. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror.
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