Jonathan had to feel his way. Their soft, voluptuous bodies wove among each other to the faint notes of a lyre. Little by little, she stopped hating him. Very few survived her trials. Few approached the émigrés directly, preferring to stare covertly from behind their fans, while pretending to admire the simple elegance of Lady Bicknacre’s neo-classical refurbishments. "So endeth the first lesson," he said.
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