She reciprocated again, this time with a slight, mischievous smile. “It wasn’t even a good pun,” he said. “You laughed at your own bad pun.”...He looked her over, up and down, and said, “You’re something else. You’re short, but you’re cute. And your smile is something else. I like it.”“It was a good pun. I did laugh. I am. It is. And I like you liking it. No. Like I said before,” She stepped closer. “Touch. Me. Here,” and with this she moved her hand down the side of her shirt and across the. After the ball, despite offers from would-be 'Beaux' of safe passage home, Eugenie's coachman drove us back to our modest residence, where, giggling gaily together and somewhat the worse for the quantity of Madeira we had consumed, we banged loudly on the door since our keys were still in our greatcoat pockets, and safely closeted in Eugenie's chateau, but eventually we were admitted by our faithful old servant, Carlos, who assumed we were 'house guests', while we were so immersed in our roles. More

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