As he gazed down into the courts of the prison, he could not help shuddering, lest a false step might precipitate him below. Gianfrancesco stumbled belatedly onto the beach, his feet padding wet sand. She had become much healthier, and she did not recoil when he kissed her bare neck as it elicited good feelings from all of the regions of her body. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. And that would spoil it. If I’d meant it, my girl, you’d be dead meat.
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