His feet would have the firm texture of his hands. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. And through all these defences and into Old Palace Yard, into the very vitals of the defenders’ position, lumbered the unsuspected vans. He climbed on top of her, pressing her into the couch cushions, the gown billowing around them like a cotton candy parachute. ‘I trust you were not altogether disgusted when I kissed you. ‘I allow anyone in.
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