” Drummond, a few years older, dark, clean-shaven, with bright eyes and humorous mouth, laid down his paper and turned towards Sir John. Listen, Jack. "Where's Thames?" he hastily inquired. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion.
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