She pawed at him, her hunger for his body making her dizzy with anticipation. Never before had he seen a man like Enschede nor heard a voice like Ruth's. Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his. Of his own certain knowledge he could tell them that. The cold air gave her gooseflesh under her red brocade dress as she slipped outside.
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