” “Does she have to sell her soul to the Devil?” Lucy asked, feeling stupid. Then, quite insensibly, her queenliness had declined. She wrapped her legs about his hips as he raised himself upon straight arms, piercing her with his gaze as he thrust into her. Good words, without deeds, are rushes and reeds. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed.
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