The pouting cherry lips were slightly parted and the very faintest of panting breaths, together with the quick rise and fall of an alluring bosom, betrayed her fear. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. She's not for pleasure, but for work. " "Robbed him!" screamed the widow. Besides, my husband has shares in Sir John’s company.
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