She remained for some seconds crouching at the fender, poker in hand. Michelle's home was one of the smaller palaces, made solidly of red brick with charming black shutters and window boxes full of drooping violets. He embraced her, kissing her cheek, then her neck. Think better of it. “I am going,” he said, “to be impertinent. He rambled in an unfortunate monotone, the result of his innate fear of public speaking.
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