’ The lashes fluttered demurely. Cheveney was looking after her, I think, then. Their soft, voluptuous bodies wove among each other to the faint notes of a lyre. His face was wreathed in smiles, his beringed hand was cordially outstretched. She was by his side. He was halfway across the ballroom, where the dancing had ceased for the musicians to take a well-earned rest, when Roding pounced on him.
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