“Not like it’s your fault if you wake up one day and decide you hanker for a nice piece of ass, a ten-minute tumble. One day she had thrown all the gifts into the lagoon, and visited the secret nook no more. She inhaled a deep breath of air—London air. “Go from me, husband!” With a flourish he brought her arms behind her and her body was slammed to the floor. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. I don’t want you to be sad.
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