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ToC Saint Giles's Round-house was an old detached fabric, standing in an angle of Kendrick Yard. She could feel his breath on her skin, every hair on her arms and neck raised in response. "But, let me tell you, it's not a pleasant sight to see the girl one likes in the arms of another. It was not the arrival of the guests, but merely the maid moving about in the hall. Each became frightfully aware of the other as a plastic energetic body, of the strong muscles of neck against cheek, of hands gripping shoulder-blade and waist. Even her debt to him was a triviality now. She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue.
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