” “That’s rather a pity,” Annabel said. It was she who felt guilty as he showed her their bedroom, smelling her perfume, ingesting their psychic leftovers. It was a pity he didn't break his neck, for he was hanged within the year. His fingers closed upon her hand. ’ Her lashes fluttered. "Whatever you like, Hoddy," she agreed, wiping the sweat from her forehead. Her specialty is the central thing in life, it is life itself, the warmth of life, sex—and love.
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