"Holloa—what's that?" cried Austin, starting up. But before he could say anything, the vehicle rolled to a halt. A white house that she often found charming loomed gray and ashen, its gardens shorn for the coming winter. This year—I’ve got it badly. "Leave him to me," he said. She looked at him as he thrust deeply, his face contorted with pleasure as he watched her riding him. "Sir Cecil is no more.
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