” “I’ve never heard Tristan and Isolde. And here against a wall were the plumtrees. ‘Coward,’ she threw at him, brandishing the sword. His foot touched the rounded edge of the starling, and glanced off, precipitating him into the water. ” His shoulders relaxed. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. She let him take off her skirt as she ritualistically removed his jeans along with his boxers. ‘Long enough for you to see Frith for me.
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