After a series of mental gymnastics—occupying the space of a few seconds—it came to him with a shock that here was a new specimen of the species. “You could have a talk to Miss Kitty Brett this afternoon, if you liked. The enclosure by which it was surrounded was about twelve feet high; the under part being composed of taken planks, the upper of a strong iron grating, surmounted by sharp iron spikes. Lucy could smell that Michelle was the body type that easily became cancerous, and fast. She could feel his penis pressing against her, half-erect under the starched black tuxedo pants. He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss.
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