She said, ‘I’ll make tea; I’d like a cup myself.’ She was very close to me, standing in front of the mirror. She glanced at her reflection as she straightened her hair and smoothed her rumpled nightdress. It was thin, almost transparent, and the light was shining through it. ‘Come here, duchess,’ I said. ‘I don’t feel like tea just yet.
-Len Deighton
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