” There was a strange look in her face, the look of a frightened child. It’s to do with adolescence. Even the teachers were getting restless, the seniors gnawing hard at the bit as graduation teased. She had carried a chair into the room veranda and had watched and listened until the night silences had lengthened and only occasionally she heard a voice or the rattle of rickshaw wheels in the courtyard. ‘Quite wrong, monsieur. He forgot Annabel’s idle attempts at love-making, all the cul-de-sac gallantry of the moment. She lifted the sheet and gestured for him to join her. He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. It melted her heart. “Please hurry. I'm not quite such a greenhorn as Shotbolt, Jack, whatever you may think.
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