She could tell right off her expedition would not be fruitful.

Gianni Strino She reclined on his bed, her long raven-colored hair, freshly brushed, cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. She wore a sheer sleeping gown of silk covered by a brightly colored Chinese robe. It was flimsier yet and hung open, not by accident. She was barefoot and rested one leg on the bed, revealing her shapely brown legs to mid-thigh.

She could tell right off her expedition would not be fruitful.

“Who is she, Francis?”

“Who’s who?” Francis was being a bumpkin again. He did not know how transparent his feelings were about Mags. The princess could tell, but Yanaba’s actions and dress were also distracting him and he was finding it difficult to concentrate.

“The woman you love.”

“Oh, oh.” He blushed.

“Twist us a cigarette, Francis.” She tossed her tobacco pouch at him. He did, and they smoked together in his room. Francis moved to the foot of the bed, sitting at Yanaba’s pretty bare feet. Allingham: Canyon Diablo