" "Let me go," implored Mrs. His fingers cherished the hilt of his sword and his eyes were on his friend and superior, ready at his back to do whatever was needed. He devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her breast against the imitation silk, his memory still exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt. When she got back to her questions again in the monotonous high-road that led up the hill, she found the image of Mr.
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