Annabel is my only sister, you know, almost my only relative. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. Having accomplished his intent, Gerald let the lad go and had himself driven back to Stratton Street. He felt himself collapse heavily onto her naked body, still inside her. “Really, Sir John,” she said, “I don’t know how to thank you. Anywhere! Moonlight and music—pleasing, you know, but quite unnecessary.
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