Her feathered hat fell from her head and down her back, and she felt fingers writhing in the mass of her hair and caressing the flesh of her neck beneath so that she shivered uncontrollably. ’ ‘Parbleu, it is I who am the idiot?’ she scolded furiously, removing one hand and digging it into her sleeve. Even though the individual faces of her audience were not to be singled out, she had been conscious from the first moment of her appearance that something was wrong. Too easily roused emotions and too little passion.
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