I won't have a beachcomber on the island. I'll tell you what. He devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her breast against the imitation silk, his memory still exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt. "Better than your company, Saint Giles," replied Sheppard; "so, shut the door, and make yourself scarce. A thin line of red appeared in the white neck.
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