The plank hung over his head. What a girl of sixteen cares for is hair and a high color and moonlight and a tenor voice. Meanwhile, the mob outside had prodigiously increased, and had begun to exhibit some disposition to riot. She was silent, the ghost of a fading smile passed from her lips. The entire city seemed to exist for beauty and art alone. She moaned as his hands explored her body, fingers crushing against her panties under her skirt.
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