She breathed deeply. The fact that it was her trusted friend making illicit love to her remained, in spite of all her effort, an insignificant thing in her mind. He lowered himself onto her and entered her slowly, an inch at a time. “How will you live?” she appealed. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend. Later, there will be fever, after I've got his heart pumping. But some people have no consideration. “How old are you?\" He looked at her engagingly. He fancied that when they had had time to reflect, they would regret it still more. She was very pretty. The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. Fritz flailed against his mother wildly, crying generous tears. ‘And then you will be obliged to remain in France,’ she pointed out. He stopped abruptly.
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