And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. “Perhaps,” she said, “it is the London climate. The only difference between the officers of Newgate and their brethren was, that they had enormous bunches of keys at their girdles, while the latter had left their keys at home. ” Anna looked up with a doubtful smile of non-recognition. He was so horny that he could probably make love to a tree.
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