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Unformatted text preview: in a dream. And speaking of hands, look at it, his large, soft hand! Now that was a man's hand. Nobody would say to him, "You have the fingers of a violinist." And she used to find men like that sexy, the delicate kind, like Cousin David, with hairless chins, with eyes full of soul. Ah, her whole appreciation of masculinity was taking a turn for the rough and the deep and the better. She touched Michael's jaw, and the edge of his ear, his neck. She felt his curly black hair. Oh, nothing softer and finer than curly black hair. Her mother and Gifford had such fine black hair. But Mona's red hair would never be soft, and then she caught the fragrance of his skin, very subtle and nice and warm, and she bent down and kissed his cheek. His eyes opened, but it seemed he couldn't see anything. She sank down beside him-just couldn't stop herself, even though she knew this was an invasion of his privacy-and he turned over. What was her plan? Hmmm . . . She felt such a craving for him sudden...
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This note was uploaded on 02/20/2010 for the course WRITING 220.200 taught by Professor Julie during the Spring '10 term at Johns Hopkins.
- Spring '10