His five o’clock shadow was bristly against her fingers. " "Who are you?" ejaculated Trenchard, scarcely able to credit his senses. Then light footsteps became audible, descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and a faint rustle of skirts. Ann Veronica decided that “hoydenish ragger” was the only phrase to express her. His face darkened. She breathed deeply.
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