The baby crawled towards them, seeking their blood. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. F. She unlaced his pants and slid them down his hips, examining him as he stood before her naked. It’s my other side of the moon. The newcomer stopped short upon the threshold. For she needed him.
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