Annabel lounged in her chair with a sort of insolent abandon in her pose, and wide-open eyes which never flinched or drooped. She drifted, via Theobald’s Road, obliquely toward the region about Titchfield Street. Hitherto it had been qualified by her conception of all life as a compromise, by her new effort to be unexacting of life. That is why I am here. She could not help devouring him a little with her eyes across the Burger King booth, handsome shoulders visibly solid underneath his ridiculous polo shirt, his eyes all sweetness and light. I ——” He stopped short. I’ve got a streak of male.
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