The pleasure intensified quickly, it was as much control as she dared to lose as she heard herself calling his name with all her breath. His food lay untouched about his plate. . She wasn’t sure of herself when she said it. And neither had any of that theatricality which demands gestures and facial expression. "Open my heart, Father of Mercy!" she murmured, in a humble tone, and with downcast looks, "and make me sensible of the error of my ways. Cheveney was another Paris friend, was he?” she asked.
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