We, ourselves, are scarcely the same we were twelve years ago. But as she got out of the train at Morningside Park Station she had a shock. "On my return, I found the window open, and the room vacant. His build was medium, he would never 5 tower over his peers, yet his shoulders were broadening, betrayed by an undeveloped set of pectoral muscles underneath his button-down shirt that she could tell frustrated him. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. Papillon would have broken him down; anything tender would have sapped his will; and like as not he would have left the stool and rushed into the night.
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