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He guided himself between her legs. Only last night she saw me, and there was horror in her eyes. I did not care—no woman really cares—to play the beggar maid to your King Cophetua. She was young and bright, little to no make-up except for lip-gloss, long, straight, glossy reddish blonde hair slightly past her shoulders. Some automaton within her produced in a quite unfamiliar voice the remark, “They’re playing football. And now, come and sit by me, my dear, and let's have a little quiet chat together. Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, golden joy. It was dusty, with dirty clothing strewn about, a cracked basin thick with grime on the rickety dresser, and a film of grease on the leaded casement. You were only one room removed from the library, see.
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