She nibbled at his neck gently, sweetly, as her hand tracing his chest. She could hear him from the lower floor as he locked the gates and drew up the wooden part of the bridge. “Look here, daddy,” she said, in a tone of great reasonableness, “I MUST go to that dance, you know. ” Michelle sat in a yogi’s posture on the cold plywood, her eyes closed as if meditating.
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