"And now, widow," he continued, "attend to the next verse, for it consarns a friend o' yours. He propped himself up on one arm, kissing her passionately. She felt his crotch through his jeans. Those were dreams. Lucy grabbed his shirtsleeve, whispering on tiptoe. It was the girl. The less said, therefore, on this point the better; because, as nothing is to be gained by it, it would only be trouble thrown away.
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