She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor. I told her I was sick today and she told me to get over myself. “It is hard to express one’s self, but I do want to be honest with you. ‘Who kills who?’ ‘Rot in hell,’ he snarled, panting, and managed to push himself forward and leap off the dais, running for the safety of the far aisle by the wall.
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