148 “Sure. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. Like the flaws of an old marble. She was a small blonde, not handsome, but with a flair for fashion demonstrated by her elegant chemise gown in the very latest Canterbury muslin, with its low décolletage barely concealed under a fine lawn handkerchief set about her shoulders, and decorated with a mauve satin sash at the waist. " "Wrong? What the devil could be wrong?" McClintock had demanded, irascibly.
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