That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap. “My Mom was a good lady. ” “The school orchestra?” “Nope. Rather! Who could help it?” He towered up over her and smiled down at her in his fatherly way. 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.
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