Wood, in equal trepidation. “I’m glad you’re all right,” he said, “because we want you to do us a favour. She released her clutch on it as, dizzy with exhaustion, she leaned against the back of the pew and closed her eyes, her fingers grasping out automatically for support. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. Lucy complied, slipping the tight jeans over her white underwear.
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