I dare say anything seemed better to her than the nun’s habit she had been obliged to use. The pouting cherry lips were slightly parted and the very faintest of panting breaths, together with the quick rise and fall of an alluring bosom, betrayed her fear. If I did not love you en désespoir, I would assuredly blow off your head. Nor, indeed, did she want to refuse. Jonathan had to feel his way.
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