Her complexion had resisted the snow-glare wonderfully; her skin had only deepened its natural warmth a little under the Alpine sun. “It is part of the irony of life,” he said. She was, as Capes had said, a hard young woman. She reeled in excitement, she unzipped his pants while kissing him, trying not to let herself stop touching him as she unclothed him. Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. A delicate flush of colour streamed into her cheeks. The skipper obeyed, and in another moment, they swept through the narrow lock. Now, I'll be getting along.
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