"When in France, I heard from the Marshal that his brother had perished in London on the night of the Great Storm. I have an appetite which I dare not increase. The man’s as obstinate as a mule. When I examined you for ‘ill humors’ I longed to run my hands over your entire body, to touch your face, to caress you in the places that would give you pleasure. Sheppard. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense.
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