He closed the door. “I know nothing about your wife. Here, indeed, was a type with which he had never until now come into contact—a natural woman. He tried again. ‘Then it is that you will have pity? Here we have come, we poor, for aid. The stairs were outside but they had been covered with a thin plastic roof. She moaned as his lips caressed her neck, almost to where the dress met her shoulder. I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot.
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