Around her neck was a little gold chain. Spurling in alarm. She made a few protests, a few excuses for her action in accepting him, a few lame explanations, but he did not heed them or care for them. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it. But why this part of the plan now seemed to her quite unattractive was a question she did not care to examine too closely. “That’s not working so well for you, is it?” She looked at him sheepishly, bringing a Kleenex out of her pocket to wipe away the excess. That's the job.
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