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He must know she’ll be at a convent. But at least it gave her more time. He looked melancholy enough, it is true. He devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her breast against the imitation silk, his memory still exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt. In and out of consciousness she sailed, hearing voices from memory that she could not distinguish from reality.
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