She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. “Oh, there’s no doubt of it! Since the girls of the eighties broke bounds and sailed away on bicycles—my young days go back to the very beginnings of that —it’s been one triumphant relaxation. ” He whispered back as he pulled her pants and underwear off of her trembling legs. Supper was spaghetti and Italian sausage that night. With a strong tendency to satire, but without a particle of malice or ill-nature in its display. Sheppard, gently, "nor do I need any.
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