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One hand on the smooth wooden doorframe, Thorn watched as Mariah bent her slender form to pick up a bundle of garments near the entry, then stood and walked from his house along the leaf-strewn ground. |
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There was a soft sway to her hips despite the almost masculine determination in her stride. She was his employee, yet there was nothing mincing or subservient about her. |
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Or compliant. She had participated fully in that ill-conceived, impulsive kiss. The kiss he still felt on his lipsand elsewhere. |
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She still remained clad in that soiled and wrinkled pink dress, but he had noticed, while returning to his house, that her laundry hung about the clearing: a small assortment of dresses, skirts, blouses, aprons . . . and a few white undergarments. |
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The latter articles were hung behind some branches with surprising modesty, considering the woman's bold ways. He had barely glanced at them; she deserved her privacy. Yet he had not been able to keep from wondering what the shape- |
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