But next moment, Captain Roding put up her back. He looked about for his hat, and put it on. “Where were you?” He inquired, rubbing her shoulders. On the north stood the battlements of one of the towers of the gate. But I expect him back every minute. She was a small blonde, not handsome, but with a flair for fashion demonstrated by her elegant chemise gown in the very latest Canterbury muslin, with its low décolletage barely concealed under a fine lawn handkerchief set about her shoulders, and decorated with a mauve satin sash at the waist.
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