Horrible doubts assailed her. Men usually do. You don’t happen to know of any one, I suppose, who wants a nursery governess, or a clerk—without shorthand—or a tryer-on, or a copyist, or——” “For Heaven’s sake stop, Miss Pellissier,” he interrupted. He leaned towards her as though anxious to see more of her face than that faint delicate profile gleaming like marble in the uncertain light. “You remind me of a little blue stone I had once. He tugged at the overly large hooded sweatshirt, which she unzipped and let fall to the ground.
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