‘It is nothing at all of the kind. Winifred instantly picked it up. “I thank you for your advice,” she said. Then a bit of colour flowed into his sunken white cheeks. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. “I wonder,” he said, “how you would like to be made love to—boldly or timorously or sentimentally.
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