She pointed hither and yon, smiled and shook her head. They had always gone without because of their secret lifestyle. “Thank Heaven, they are bringing the hors d’oeuvres. But for Ruth, he, Howard Spurlock, might have ended upon the beach, inescapably damned. He devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her breast against the imitation silk, his memory still exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt.
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