But no more of that. He groped her buttocks. The vault, in which Sir Rowland found himself, resembled in some measure the cabin of a ship. Spurlock understood that his vantage would be temporary; the Wastrel had been knocked down, not out. She moved towards it slowly and picked it up, holding it out in front of her whilst the familiar perfume seemed to assert itself with damning insistence. Her glasses moved quickly as her glance travelled from face to face. She was radiant.
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