He has taken more than one step towards the gallows already. But we’ve got the brains to get over that, and tongues in our heads to talk to each other. The last thing that she remembered was her eyes crossing as she tried to focus upon the crunch of leaves as she lay heaving upon them, dampening them further with the outpouring of her sweat as it leaked from her clothing. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. He obeyed, letting the garment fall to the floor. One studies Nature in order not to be blindly ruled by her. Kneebone.
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