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She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. She looked at him as he thrust deeply, his face contorted with pleasure as he watched her riding him. The place pulsed with music too loud to converse above. " No sooner had Wood crept through the window, than nature gave way, and he fainted. “Why did you do it?” her aunt urged.
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