He was beautiful and perfect, his blue eyes smiling at her. In the heart of the jungle the dog had his private muck baths. Melusine, starved of colour for years, revelled in it. “I thought that I heard a groan,” Anna whispered. I thought—the papers said——” “You thought that I was dead,” he interrupted. “Now you must go,” she said firmly. She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor. The Bach Cantata was played fairly well, Sebastian thought, for a lot of children. But this afternoon it discovered an unusual vein of irritability in her.
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