His sword-arm fell useless at his side and she knew herself safe. . She became aware of the modelling of his ear, of the muscles of his neck and the textures of the hair that came off his brow, the soft minute curve of eyelid that she could just see beyond his brow; she perceived all these familiar objects as though they were acutely beautiful things. Here was the corner-stone of a capital story; but he knew that Howard Spurlock would never write it. Shocked and appalled, she brought her left knee up fast, ramming his testicles swiftly. The sun was setting in spectacular multicolored streams beyond Whitefield Park.
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