“What are you thinking?” I asked after a moment, fascinated. “I’m not thinking.” “Yes, you are; I can see it on your face.” “Ye don’t want to know.” Sweat was beginning to gleam across his cheekbones, and his eyes had gone to slits. “Oh, yes, I do—oh, wait. If you’re thinking about someone other than me, I don’t want to know.” He opened his eyes at that, and fixed me with a look that ran straight up between my quivering legs. He didn’t stop. “Oh,” I said, a little breathless myself. “Well … when you can talk again, I do want to know, then.” He went on looking at me, with a gaze that now struck
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