F. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. “Lucy!” He whispered into her ear beneath a dusty curtain cloud. Her complexion had resisted the snow-glare wonderfully; her skin had only deepened its natural warmth a little under the Alpine sun. Why would militia be infesting the place? And he must by now be aware of my interest.
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