She was feeling extraordinarily well that night, so that the sense of her body was a deep delight, a realization of a gentle warmth and strength and elastic firmness. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. Don’t ask me how. "Come—the kiss!" cried Austin, endeavouring to pass his arm familiarly round the Amazon's waist. . ” She was frightened—his anger always did frighten her—and in her resolve to conceal her fright she carried a queen-like dignity to what she felt even at the time was a preposterous pitch.
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