He rambled in an unfortunate monotone, the result of his innate fear of public speaking. She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village. She even thought that perhaps she might come to love him, in spite of that faint indefinable flavor of absurdity that pervaded his courtly bearing. She could not keep herself from reaching orgasm, and could barely contain the desire to claw him as she came and her canines expanded. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. “I don’t understand.
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