“I wanted to tell you”—she panted—“there are no pockets in my dress. It is quite impractical. I thought you’d approve.” “I’ve changed my mind about your dresses,” he said, lifting his head. “What?” He fingered the embroidery along her neckline. “Keep the dowdy dresses, Silla. I wanted to punch every man that looked upon you tonight.” His fingers grappled with the lacings. “Let us take it off now and throw it into the fire.”
🤣🤣🤣
