" "Gem'men o' the votch!" cried Sharples, as loudly as a wheezy cough would permit him, "my noble pris'ner—ough! ough;—the Markis o' Slaughterford ——" Further speech was cut short by a volley of execrations from the angry guardians of the night. “Don’t!” cried Ann Veronica, struggling faintly, and he released her. Her orgasm began as an insistent throb. For every Eden, there will be a serpent; for every sheepfold, there will be a wolf.
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