He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. A black-garbed figure crept forward, noiselessly, towards Gosse’s back. She released her clutch on it as, dizzy with exhaustion, she leaned against the back of the pew and closed her eyes, her fingers grasping out automatically for support. . Thames did not try to cheer her. ” “Try what?” She asked, coolly assessing his lithe hips.
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