Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. She wanted him, she needed sex, but the two ideas had not formed an equation where a concrete result could be deduced. His red hair marked him, cut short into a round shape that had the texture of a Brillo pad. “You must pack for me. He had “put his foot down,” and said she must not go. It seemed to her at this moment that there was nothing left for her to do.
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