“Sheila and Mark McCloskey?” Michelle asked. ‘Who me, sir? Lor’ no, sir. “You have the temperament,” he said. ‘I thought—I thought I saw my—my husband. Wood will be here presently. 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. ’ ‘And she’d be right,’ Martha said severely.
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