the air, found it again, lost chord, and lost and found it faltering.
―Go on! Do! Sonnez!
Bending, she nipped a peak of skirt above her knee.
Delayed. Taunted them still, bending, suspending, with wilful eyes.
― Sonnez!
Smack. She let free sudden in rebound her nipped elastic garter smackwarm against her smackable a woman’s warmhosed thigh.
― La cloche! cried gleeful Lenehan. Trained by owner. No sawdust there.
She smilesmirked supercilious (wept! aren’t men?), but, lightward gliding, mild she smiled on Boylan.
―You’re the essence