‘I should not dream of forcing my attentions on you. 132 “I thought you wanted me—you told me so when we kissed in the park!” He cried. She pulled a few strands of her hair from her head to leave with Michelle’s. She let them fall and sped to the companion, where she stood for a moment, the moonlight giving her a celestial touch. She marvelled at his apparent imperviousness to the heat. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the author. And at length her penultimate day in Morningside Park dawned for her. Spurling. Wagstaff. She went past three keenly observant and ostentatiously preoccupied waiters down the thickcarpeted staircase and out of the Hotel Rococo, that remarkable laboratory of relationships, past a tall porter in blue and crimson, into a cool, clear night.
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