" "Then, most probably, it was the widow Sheppard," answered Blueskin, sulkily. An enormous Hand that rose up swiftly, blotting out the sky. Instinct had forced her to create something out of rags to satisfy a mysterious craving. It was difficult to get right. She pulled at his tee shirt again, wishing to feel his naked chest upon hers. “That sounds so uncouth,” she murmured.
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