"He was hanged that left his drink behind, you know, master," rejoined Sheppard. "I am coming to the point, Joan. 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. She was a lone white woman, therefore marked. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six.
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