Miss Stanley walked round the garden thinking, and presently house and garden reverberated to Ann Veronica’s slamming of the front door. His heart was beating, but faintly and slowly, with ominous intermissions. A fierce struggle ensued. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. She had neither the semi-boisterousness of the average American girl nor the chilling insolence of the English. She felt conscious of her nipples becoming visibly erect under the tight t-shirt and wished that she owned a thicker brassiere. Happily they had no one else to wait for, and it heartened her mightily to think that she had ordered the promptest possible service of the dinner. Gerald’s voice came back to her, saying that she could not hope to outwit “a man who means business”. His obtuse hands punched and jabbed at her uselessly, then he throttled her neck with the last of his strength. ’ ‘That’s right,’ agreed the militiaman, coming forward to stand before her. ’ ‘Did I so?’ Gerald said, amused.
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