As he whisks the eggs, he’ll flex the muscles of his forearm. He’ll talk to me about baseball or the stock market, but he’ll speak slowly and us... his husky, morning voice, the one that makes me press my thighs together and shiver. He’ll look over at me just before putting the egg mixture into the frying pan and say something funny. He won’t laugh aloud, because he never does, but he will smile. A jolt of a smile that touches me to my core. I’ll inch forward from my seat atop the counter and. .“She has her maid push her round in a bath chair Father, she is a damn cripple,” I snapped.“Quite comely though,” Mother added, “Anyway she arrives at noon so at the earliest opportunity make her an offer.I was in a foul mood when Miss Rochester arrived. Her maid helped her from the carriage and into the house. They were far too friendly, I knew worshippers of Lesbos when I saw them and those two were most clearly practitioners of that art.I made small talk, bored them stupid I hope, and then. More

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