” Lady Ferringhall was conscious of some relief. Never again to be alone! To fit herself into this man's life as a hand into a glove; to use all her skill to force him into the position of depending upon her utterly; to be the spark to the divine fire! He should have his book, even if it had to be written with her heart's blood. He suckled at her shoulder blade as he slid her panties down. “It is a great art,” she said in broken English.
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