She gave up as he finished, spending himself in her mouth. I’ve been wondering where she got her dogged will, and that hot-headed adventurous spirit, for it wasn’t from either Mary or Nicholas, that’s sure. Each became frightfully aware of the other as a plastic energetic body, of the strong muscles of neck against cheek, of hands gripping shoulder-blade and waist. On the morrow Spurlock (who was unaware that he had offered a prayer) let down the bars to his reserve. “Perhaps one talks nonsense about a woman’s instinct,” she said.
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