Shari’s eyes widened, “You mean it?” “I’m all yours, head to toe. "You are all right?"—anxiously. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. She slipped on white thin-soled tennis shoes with no socks, her ankles exposed as Shari had once suggested they be worn. "What does he say?" roared the long drover. They would be partners only in loneliness. Her body went into spasm.
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