When I examined you for ‘ill humors’ I longed to run my hands over your entire body, to touch your face, to caress you in the places that would give you pleasure. " "At your peril, sirrah!" cried Wood. "Is it poison?" she asked. Shotbolt," cried the turnkey, "I've good news for you. “Michelle, I think that you are the victim of an extremely overactive imagination.
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