“The conventions do not matter one little bit. The prostitute’s attack was predictable, typical. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. ’ ‘But it is imbecile,’ interrupted Melusine, struck by the impracticalities of her father’s scheme. You are wedged in amongst a crowd, perhaps in the promenade, you lean over the back, you are almost out of sight. So long as she stood beside him, he was safe. Rich folks, once. Presently, however, a sudden movement occurred, and disclosed his features, which were those of a young man of nearly his own age. She wrapped her legs about his hips as he raised himself upon straight arms, piercing her with his gaze as he thrust into her.
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