There were neither texts nor rubbish on the walls, but only a stirring version of Belshazzar’s feast, a steel engraving in the early Victorian manner that had some satisfactory blacks. "I am Owen Wood, at your service. ’ Hilary’s gaze was raking the room. The tension was palpable. "I'm not worth it. . 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.
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