She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. ‘What?’ ‘Nothing,’ snapped Roding, with an odd look at his bride to be that Gerald could not interpret. Her belly was being touched, she felt her thighs caressed softly. Only in her eyes there seemed to be some apprehension of the fact that the young man’s clothes and manners were alike undesirable things. Wood.
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