He devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her breast against the imitation silk, his memory still exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt. Perceiving he was about to take leave, Kneebone ventured to ask whom he had had the honour of addressing. I want him as my friend. Sheppard, fleeing from him to the farthest corner of the room.
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