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Slowly, he drew back his head and looked into her face. Beethoven; he’s the best of them. She loved to be there, taking part in it all, breathing it, being it. He took her there on the cold, dirty floor, his nails digging into her back, his teeth sinking into her breasts. His voice now had lost its ironies. ’ Lucilla eyed him with one of those particularly feminine looks it was difficult for a mere male to interpret.
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