No great lover of state or state costume at any time, he was generally, towards the close of an evening, completely in dishabille, and in this condition he now presented himself to his subjects. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a faint shudder stir her shoulders. " "It is," answered Wood. Sated, he rolled off her body and retired to his quarters.
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