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. His letter of credit; probably that was it; and, observing the strangeness of the room he was in, his first concern on returning to consciousness would naturally relate to his letter of credit. Warm life was behind that always, even if it slept. To find the incentive! But how? Thither and yon the idea roved, seeking the way. She tried to be casual. She could not stir hand or foot. Too easily roused emotions and too little passion. Her features were still slightly marked by the disorder alluded to in the description of her as a child,—but that was the only drawback to her beauty. My Mom inherited our house from our Grandma, otherwise they never could have afforded it, not even twenty years ago. Yesterday!—who cared? To-morrow!—who knew? "Porpoise," she said, touching his hand.
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