Still, my tutor was a highly educated scholar—my father. When I examined you for ‘ill humors’ I longed to run my hands over your entire body, to touch your face, to caress you in the places that would give you pleasure. “They’re all doing great. Figg?" asked Gay. The infant’s body, now missing its pulverized head, was still twitching among the blood-soaked ruins of corpses.
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