For most of a long and fluctuating night she was fairly confident that she would find work; she knew herself to be strong, intelligent, and capable by the standards of most of the girls she knew. He did not move. ‘This is not love, Marthe. 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. A tourist caravan of four pole-chairs jogged along a narrow street.
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