Mike was drinking a cup of black coffee. “My God!” he said again. You know nothing of life, nothing of its dangers, nothing of its possibilities. He devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her breast against the imitation silk, his memory still exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt. While she worked, Melusine worried over the problem of getting Jack home.
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