He climbed on top of her, pressing her into the couch cushions, the gown billowing around them like a cotton candy parachute. ‘How in God’s name did the wretched fellow get in then?’ ‘Dug a tunnel?’ suggested Gerald, halting next to a pair of French windows at the front. ’ ‘A pretty tale. I wish very much that you had written before leaving Paris. I require stimulant.
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