‘Still more would I be so if he had come himself to tell me this. “She has nothing to be afraid of,” he continued. “Queer letters he writes,” she said. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. “My arrival appears to be opportune,” he said stiffly. She also knew that he was the type who would not make a single physical overture until she pushed the correct buttons. She wished she could steal his smiles and keep them in a box, they had always been so precious.
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