His apparel was sumptuous in the extreme, and such as was only worn by persons of the highest distinction. In truth, she had been quite glad to lose the argument about remaining while the bullet was dug out of Jack’s side. She could feel his penis pressing against her, half-erect under the starched black tuxedo pants. If the Wastrel had not turned the instant he did, the ball would have missed him; as it was he turned directly into its path. For she knew that men married to get something.
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