All that he had sown that afternoon with such infinite care was as nothing compared to this seed, cast without forethought. He stood completely still as she moved her tongue up and down its shaft. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. " Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson. ’ Gerald tutted. "His shin may need rubbing. "From Lady Trafford's, where I took the box.
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