Her white shirt was ridiculously utilitarian, but fitted in all the right places, he smirked. Her roving eagerness was at all times shaded with shyness, reserve, repression. With a cry of triumph, he rose, the sword hilt grasped in his fingers, the point swishing up towards her. She was always breaking rules, whispering asides, intimating signals. “I should make sure that he doesn’t try to drive himself home. His baggy shorts sagged over knobby knees that tapered into decrepit Reebok sneakers. ‘When I thought to make them sympathique for me, with a little tear, you understand, and some tricks feminine of this kind—’ ‘Feminine tricks, too?’ cut in Gerald admiringly, controlling a quivering lip.
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