Capes was an exceptionally fair man of two or three-and-thirty, so ruddily blond that it was a mercy he had escaped light eyelashes, and with a minor but by no means contemptible reputation of his own. “When it comes there is no mistaking it. You see, I’m selfish. Her brown curls were pulled tight in a severe chignon. Jacques, Jacques!’ His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed. But no matter how you phrase it, the end is the same. “Are you a virgin, Julian? With your handsome face and powerful body, you mean to tell me that you haven’t dipped your wick?” He started to get angry, “But it’s not the same for guys as it is for girls!” “So you have tasted the forbidden fruit, haven’t you? You’re no different than any male.
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