‘You see, unlike you, mademoiselle, your cavalier here would not wish to be arrested. She slid the dress off, naked underneath. You are to come home. He saw the flames burst from the windows, and perhaps in that maddening spectacle suffered torture equivalent to some of the crimes he had committed. He seemed so clean anyway, his fair 215 skin, his light brown hair, there almost seemed to be no point. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. And your great-niece. There were shadows under his eyes. She answered him with another kiss, long and deep.
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