It was as if her aesthetic sense had become inflamed. The cork came out with a loud pop, and Anna could not help wondering how it must sound to the patient little crowd outside. But for me it doesn’t matter. She went from period to period exactly as she would have read prose; so that sense and music were equally balanced. She felt conscious of her nipples becoming visibly erect under the tight t-shirt and wished that she owned a thicker brassiere. “Don’t be an ass, Ferringhall,” he said tersely.
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