” “Let us say that Café Maston, in the Boulevard des Italiennes, at half-past seven then,” he decided. He devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her breast against the imitation silk, his memory still exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt. Their momentary absence seemed to have worked wonders; for now the most perfect understanding appeared to subsist between them.
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