“Umph!” he said, and regarded his letter doubtfully before consigning it to the pillar-box. "So you're writing under a nom de plume, eh?" said McClintock, holding out the letter. She could not keep herself from reaching orgasm, and could barely contain the desire to claw him as she came and her canines expanded. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse.
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