He had an objective now. She drifted back into the welcoming arms of sleep, feeling herself surrounded in silk. “Let go!” she gasped at him, a blaze of anger. “I’d give anything to kiss your neck. He had informed her that to leave him would be a choice to live a life of meager subsistence. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. His assistance came too late. Diedermeyer, sweetheart? He just went in.
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