“Want to see my fangs?” She asked. The fact itself is regrettable enough—regrettable, I fear, is quite an inadequate word. Wood. Her feathered hat fell from her head and down her back, and she felt fingers writhing in the mass of her hair and caressing the flesh of her neck beneath so that she shivered uncontrollably. Every afternoon, from now on, I will teach you a little about life—I mean the worldly points of view you're likely to meet.
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