"To be sure I will, my child. When I examined you for ‘ill humors’ I longed to run my hands over your entire body, to touch your face, to caress you in the places that would give you pleasure. It was high afternoon, there was no great throng of footpassengers, and many an eye from omnibus and pavement rested gratefully on her fresh, trim presence as she passed young and erect, with the light of determination shining through the quiet self-possession of her face. You need only answer me truthfully and you have nothing to fear. God, we suck. The entire place was a masterpiece of wooden carving, a design of interleaving carried throughout. He certainly bore inspection.
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