Part 8 And as she sat on her bed that night, musing and half-undressed, she began to run one hand down her arm and scrutinize the soft flow of muscle under her skin. Most of them didn’t, anyhow. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered.
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