She was too late. ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Martha begged. Pause. When I examined you for ‘ill humors’ I longed to run my hands over your entire body, to touch your face, to caress you in the places that would give you pleasure. I will shed no more blood. I have had enough of your hysterical behavior. I got a rusty bolt cutter. Could she understand what she was talking about? Luckily it was a second-class carriage and the ordinary fellowtravellers were not there.
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