She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. ” “You are at least aware,” he said, “that you have on several recent occasions acted in direct opposition to my wishes. ” “Surely,” he protested, “the change is all in favour of your own inclinations. The man’s passion was infectious. No one is safe. 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.
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