Once I banged on the door so hard I split it in two. “Her ladyship dined at home,” the man answered. Annabel shines like a star in the darkness, Rosamund queens it a rose, deep rose; But the lady I love is like sunshine in April weather, She gleams and gladdens, she warms—and goes. “What did it matter?” she cried. He moaned in excitement as his lips wrapped around the peak of her right breast. “Sit down,” he said, and perused—“perused” is the word for it—for some moments.
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