She had recourse to the torn off strip of petticoat again, and blowing her nose with an air of determination, sniffed back the tears. It is dull—deadly dull. He kissed her neck, moving down to her breasts, trying to consume her with passion. He whispered in her ear. “You are very stupid, Anna,” she said. She felt surges of longing escape every corner of her flesh. When the disillusion comes, when the fairy story ends, if she is blessed with children, she doesn't mind. She shook her head. I don’t mean I’m not a good woman—I mean that I’m not a GOOD woman. Then she looked up at Brendon.
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