"The end is the most beautiful in English literature. ” Part 4 They sat with tea and strawberries and cream before them at a little table in front of the pavilion in Regent’s Park. He could see lust virtually dripping from the dark-haired boy’s maw as she teased every last note from her shuddering violin, the devil in a black skirt. She recognized the cloth at once, waylaid him, and with that directness of speech particularly hers she explained what she wanted. He cocked an eyebrow. The smile had become a laugh.
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