” He put his hands on her shoulders and lowered her onto the flat surface of the picnic bench. She turned and looked at the red LED of the alarm clock that read 3:55. God help me. I felt—I felt living in a masked world. When I examined you for ‘ill humors’ I longed to run my hands over your entire body, to touch your face, to caress you in the places that would give you pleasure. Or was that perhaps because his business in Piccadilly the other day had gone awry? Perhaps Brewis Charvill had not welcomed him with open arms.
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