Nor is there one todayto speak them good or ill:There is nothing more to say.Why is it then we strayaround the sunken sill?They are all gone away.And ...ur poor fancy-playfor them is wasted skill:There is nothing more to say.There is ruin and decayIn the House on the Hillthey are all gone away, There is nothing more to say."The House on the Hill" by Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869-1935)Christine felt a slight movement in the air around her. The flame of her candle briefly flickered and then burned. ‘Would you like some help with that,’ whispered a voice, gently and passionately. John’s dropped his washcloth, and it fell with a wet splat across her feet. She laughed at his nervousness, and John could only reply with a shy smile—-but the shyness quickly evaporated as he took in her beauty……standing there is a long t-shirt that covered her to just below the pubic area, but quickly becoming transparent with hot water that revealed her swelling nipples. John inhaled sharply….he was already her. More

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