“'Perdita, make enough for all of us. I'll be back as soon as I've served.' The copper kettle was steaming now, and the butler filled the teapot. Then he lifted the tray up before him with 124 both hands. He had to carry it extended at some distance; his stomach intruded. He moved down the corridor at a stately pace. Perdita was no more than an inch or two taller than I. A dark, flashing button of a woman. Shiny black hair cut as short and impudently as a flapper's. Sparkling eyes. Her long tong...ue kept darting between small white teeth and wet lips. I watched her as she assembled our belowstairs treat. She was formed like a miniature Venus. Almost as plump as that marble Cupid in the entrance hall. Creamy skin. In a steamy fantasy, I saw her wearing an abbreviated satin skirt, tiny lace apron and cap, pumps, a shocking décolletage — the classic French maid from the pages of La Vie Parisienne. She frightened me with her animal energy, but I was attracted to her. She came into the pantry bringing a plate of macaroons.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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