He devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her breast against the imitation silk, his memory still exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt. Where was the harm in letting her go? She could not get far. He stood transfixed. She wallowed for a time in the thought of Capes, unable to escape from his image and the idea of his presence in her life. “Had he better have a nurse? I will be responsible for anything of that sort. He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way. ’ Kimble’s widening gaze told its own tale, but still he kept his fingers on the handle of the door. He had studied alchemy and astronomy, was a capable painter, and even wrote music. “Great Scott!” he exclaimed huskily.
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