She looked upon it with pity as she drank his diabetic blood and saw that several of his fingers were missing. "I'm armed; you are not. She untucked his starched shirt, running her hands along his smooth torso and underneath his arms. Whenever ecstasy— any kind of ecstasy—filled her heart to bursting, these physical expressions eased the pressure. She had no intention whatsoever of spending her life in a convent, but that was not his affair. The likeness was ridiculous.
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