Her white shirt was ridiculously utilitarian, but fitted in all the right places, he smirked. Indeed I am! I would make this country a collective monarchy, and all the girls and women in it should be the Queen. But heavens, I must pack!” She sprang to her feet and disappeared in the room beyond, from which she emerged a few minutes later with flushed cheeks and dishevelled hair. Do you indeed remember? The smell of decay and cheap methylated spirit!. “I don’t see why not,” he answered. She could smell the savory tinge of his sweat in the air.
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