’ Leaning down, she raised the hem of the petticoat of her habit to reveal a neat little pair of boots on her feet. Books! She knew now what had saved her—her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had set the giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books. “Must be hard to find a decent violin teacher these days. I did not care—no woman really cares—to play the beggar maid to your King Cophetua. She untucked his starched shirt, running her hands along his smooth torso and underneath his arms.
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