She cried out in pain, then in pleasure as he thrust himself into her. ‘It looked to me as if he was playing games with Madame Valade,’ Lucilla said frankly. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon.
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