She watched, puzzled, as her cavalier frowned at the newcomer, glancing from him to Melusine and back again. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. For the face under her gaze she could find but one expression—fine. Traci moved out to L. She pulled him by his tee shirt, pulling his mouth to her nipple.
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