You aren’t afraid of thunder, are you?” He asked. Sheppard, with a frenzied laugh. Detention was merry for the other detainees. His last actions were futile. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. You can’t go. He beamed a little as she disappeared into the orchestra room, a cacophony of tuning instruments. Her voice seemed to come from a long way off. He kissed her neck, moving down to her breasts, trying to consume her with passion.
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