He looks beside him, to Kit’s shaggy blond head and wide smile. Then back, to dark, sharp little Peter, riding the fat little pony they all call Goblin because she isn’t nice for anyone other than him. Both are attractive men, in their way. Harry can admit that. He can also admit he feels nothing for them, other than a vague kinship. Harry exhales in relief. He’s not … he’s not a sodomite. He remembers riding through Salisbury Market a year ago with Sir Simon, and there was a man being hung for sodomy. When the body stopped jerking, the executioner had cut his genitals off, and then they had
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