She imagined herself on a barren 41 plain, post-Apocalypse, convulsing, waiting to die with the cockroach. “We will try and make you happy, my dear, so that you may learn that lovemaking is perhaps a little more than your idea of a woman’s duty. But we have got to talk upon indifferent themes until we have done with this blond young gentleman from Bavaria. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. While this was taking place, another and more serious interruption occurred. Your purpose is done. Would you mind?" She wanted another kiss, but she did not know how to go about it; so she satisfied the hunger by pressing his hands to her thundering heart. His quiet, kindly smile implied his serene disbelief in any confessible thing. Decidedly this was imbecile. You disgust me.
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