The afternoon dragged by with the suffocating slowness of a prison sentence. Camille had bathed, washing the grime of Paris and the salt spray of the helicopter flight from her skin, but she had refused to touch the sumptuous silk slip dresses hanging in the cedar wardrobe. Instead, she had dressed in a simple, high-necked black cashmere sweater, dark tailored trousers, and soft leather flat slippers she found in the…
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