. “Some afternoon. She was caught by an uncle, whose opinion she valued, making faces at Roddy because he had exulted at this. She became aware of the modelling of his ear, of the muscles of his neck and the textures of the hair that came off his brow, the soft minute curve of eyelid that she could just see beyond his brow; she perceived all these familiar objects as though they were acutely beautiful things. You feel that that smile is for you, the words are for you, the whole song is for you. It was a habit of his to talk to himself. Why? Because Howard Spurlock the author dared not risk the liberty of Howard Spurlock the malefactor; because there were still some dregs in this cup of irony. She orgasmed quickly, then was thrilled to feel it happen again twice more as he slowed his pace.
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