“Listen, Annabel,” he said hoarsely. She could smell him almost as strongly as she could the new paint on the fire escape walls, along with the wool suit and the weird polyester smell of his wet umbrella. Both of them would be committing novel and unforgettable acts. Such was the hubbub and tumult around him, that the carpenter could not hear its plunge into the flood. He continued thoughtfully. One post-midnight meeting, she could stand it no longer. She looked at him as he thrust deeply, his face contorted with pleasure as he watched her riding him. Men of action by the scarlet coats with their grey facings—insignia of the county militia.
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