I worshipped her and subdued myself. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. They are things faint and slight in themselves, as physical facts, but they are like the detonator of a bomb: they let loose the explosive. Part 8 And as she sat on her bed that night, musing and half-undressed, she began to run one hand down her arm and scrutinize the soft flow of muscle under her skin. "You've hit it," answered Sheppard.
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