“Now,” he said, “no one can blunder in upon us. Brendon was silent. She looked, Dorothée said, just as she always looks. Her relationship with John had made her the object of desire for scores of teenage boys who had dared not previously think of her in such a way. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. He slackened his pace as he reached the flat.
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