It’s an instinct. He walked with bent head. The fact that it was her trusted friend making illicit love to her remained, in spite of all her effort, an insignificant thing in her mind. A black silk furbelowed scarf covered her shoulders; and over the kincob gown hung a yellow satin apron, trimmed with white Persian. Threw it out. The manager stared at the empty doorway for a space, shrugged, and returned to his ledgers.
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