You cannot draw. Epithalamy might do. She untucked his starched shirt, running her hands along his smooth torso and underneath his arms. "Is it poison?" she asked. She loved for him to regale her with the stories of his past, the days of ancient Greece. She was sorry to find Ramage a little disposed to be melancholy. He must never refuse her anything which was within his power to grant—anything (he modified) which did not lead to his motives.
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