The man himself was not a pleasant object. The summer arrived, speeding the Plague and with it the famine in the streets. As usual, Lucy traced over parts of her experiences in her confidences with Shari, skipping lightly over her own 10 story as a pebble would over a lake. She dropped on her knees by his side, and gently unbuttoned his waistcoat. But the survey was satisfactory, and she found herself presently in Room No. His gray eyes were closed, his persimmon-colored lips open and panting.
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