She could accord her father with one grace: he was not in any manner a hypocrite. It wasn’t. There stepped forth a tall brown man. “No, I’m not a virgin. 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. David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall. Well, I don't think they'll any of 'em nab him, that's one comfort.
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