The solos were revealing, sensual and moody. Left alone, Jonathan lighted a lamp, and, opening the trap-door, descended the secret stairs. It was only a matter of time. He pushed her to his bed, little more than a cot, and pulled off her clothes. I shall still wear your favor—even if it is a stolen and forbidden favor—in my casque. Eventually her movements carried her to the little stand at the side of the bed. “Life’s so queer,” she said, kneeling and looking into the flames.
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