Throwing down the pencil, she snatched up a piece of India-rubber, and exclaiming,—"It isn't at all like him! it isn't half handsome enough!" was about to efface the sketch, when Thames darted into the room. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. Without betraying the slightest confusion, or making a single remark, he quietly resumed his seat. Courtlaw sat with folded arms. She let him take off her skirt as she ritualistically removed his jeans along with his boxers.
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