He was just getting cross about your being late for dinner—you know his way—when it came. She sensed he might try and wane on her doorstep. She wanted him, she needed sex, but the two ideas had not formed an equation where a concrete result could be deduced. His fingers slipped under the collar of her linen shift and he tore it open with a swipe. “And then they are swollen up and inflamed and drunken with matter. “Mr. The Pursuit 425 XXV.
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