With a finger crooked in his side-pocket, she measured her step with his, her senses still dizzy from the echo of the magic sounds. " Neither man spoke. “You are mistaken, David. It isn’t sentiment but it’s horse sense. When they made love, he seemed to shift into the realm of possessiveness. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. "That was the lad's name," returned the stranger.
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