Weeks hurled past, weeks that turned into months. ‘I am not a fool. Of what was she thinking? She must rescue herself. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. "Leave go!" cried Jack, struggling violently, and raising his hand, "or I'll maul you for life. She should have slapped him but she was in shock at her own thoughts of lust that arose. ‘I broke in.
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