"He must be somewhere hereabouts," cried one of the horsemen, dismounting. He kissed her neck, moving down to her breasts, trying to consume her with passion. Her cargo is nearly shipped. She mentally reprimanded herself to alter her own visage so as not to appear depraved. “Where were you?” He inquired, rubbing her shoulders. There were cakes and sandwiches—for Ennison a sort of Elysian feast, long to be remembered.
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