‘What are the chances, do you think, of that thing being already cocked?’ ‘Probably not even loaded,’ suggested Hilary hopefully. He walked through the misty September night to his rooms. The Night-Cellar. “I have stood it for a month, Anna,” he exclaimed. She wrapped her legs about his hips as he raised himself upon straight arms, piercing her with his gaze as he thrust into her. She wore a black satin dress, a little shiny at the seams, a purposeless bow of white tulle at the back of her neck, and a huge chatelaine. “We shall try again later.
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