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It had not been easy. It had been terrible. Joanna did not cry out, but tears oozed between her tight-shut lids and her breathing was racked with sobs. She dared not look at her husband. From the evidence of her ears, he had been little better pleased than she with their first union. His breath hissed between his teeth with effort or displeasure. The latter, Joanna feared, because twice she heard quite distinguishable, if muffled, oaths. Even after he became silent and then, finally sighed with pleasure, he had remained astride her for a time, as if he was too tired to move. |
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At last he rolled away. Joanna waited, as still as she could be, trying to control her sobbing, hoping he would fall asleep so that she could look for the proof of her suffering on the sheets. Instead of turning away, however, Geoffrey turned toward her. |
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"I am sorry I hurt you, Joanna," he said softly, and then, rather irritably, "Why did you urge me? I thought you were ready." |
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When she did not reply, Geoffrey wiped the tears from her cheeks and thought to himself he was a fool. How would she know anything about that? "Come," he said in a gentler tone, "open your eyes and look at me. I will not trouble you again if you are not willing. I am not changed into a monster. It will grow easier." |
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Still Joanna did not speak. Geoffrey propped himself on an elbow and looked at his wife. She was no longer crying and she had obediently opened her eyes, but her face was closed, her thoughts withdrawn, fixed upon something totally unrelated to him. Perhaps Joanna had not been weeping with pain but with regret or, possibly, with disgust. Had |
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