After a long fifteen seconds, she pulled her head back into the seat, looking at his face from the close angle, his nose huge and out of perspective, his eyes like round blue pearls. As he turned the handle, it moved, and the door was taken from his hand and pulled outward by the young footman. The area was sparsely populated. He had meant to be master of his fate that evening and it had escaped him altogether. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet.
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