Her white shirt was ridiculously utilitarian, but fitted in all the right places, he smirked. Thames, you needn't tidy yourself, as you've hurt your arm. Wood, whose admiration for masculine beauty was by no means abated, glanced at the well-proportioned figure of the young man, and made him a very civil salutation. You must think of this evening, John, sometimes—as a sort of atonement.
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