Awkwardly, he closed his eyes and fumbled for a kiss. Neither you nor your mother shall escape me. “Indeed,” she said, “I would not. ” He leaned to kiss her 131 and she returned his kiss, which she drew out, savored, and tried to memorize. The movement was fatal to her son. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. “There is some mystery about you both,” he exclaimed, with sudden earnestness. He was perhaps forty-five years of age.
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