At last, he got into a lane, but had not proceeded far when he was again alarmed by the sound of a horse's tread. She thought of an old abandoned barn that she could inhabit further downriver, but shrugged off the idea in disdain. He drove her home that night, kissing her again and again at stoplights. “Is that plain?” she asked. Hopefully. Elegant, a little scornful, she leaned slightly against the back of a chair and looked him steadily in the eyes. Spurlock looked up. Fast asleep, he is.
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