She helped herself to the remainder of the slightly congealed bacon, and reverted to the problem of getting her luggage out of the house. You're a queer lad. It was so hopeless to put it to them. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. A young man —almost a boy, slight, dark, and with his brother’s deep grey eyes—came across the room to her. “John. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. The pleasure intensified quickly, it was as much control as she dared to lose as she heard herself calling his name with all her breath. She could still feel his psychic presence all around her, and she knew he was thinking of her.
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