She nuzzled his chest and he breathed deeply of the scent of her Finesse conditioner. A full-curled wig descended half-way down his back and shoulders; a neckcloth of "right Mechlin" was twisted round his throat so tightly as almost to deprive him of breath, and threaten him with apoplexy; he had lace, also, at his wrists and bosom; gold clocks to his hose, and red heels to his shoes. Lucy acted the part of savoring the end of the meal, but it was difficult. “Can you come out tonight?” “Um, sure, I guess.
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