\" Lucy felt the familiar warmth surge upward from her crotch. ! He’ll come a cropper one of these days, if you ask me. He had nothing to guide him; for though the torches were blazing ruddily below, their gleam fell only on the side of the building. Yet her aunt, with a ringed hand flitting to her lips and a puzzled, worried look in her eyes, deaf to all this riot of warmth and flitting desire, was playing Patience—playing Patience, as if Dionysius and her curate had died together. She flared her upper lip, baring her canines which had extended by half an inch.
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