She felt conscious of her nipples becoming visibly erect under the tight t-shirt and wished that she owned a thicker brassiere. She could smell him almost as strongly as she could the new paint on the fire escape walls, along with the wool suit and the weird polyester smell of his wet umbrella. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. You’ve placed me in a very exceptional position, Miss Stanley. Her eyes were soft and grave, and there was the faintest of smiles upon her resolute lips.
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