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A response began to build up in her and Rhiannon shook herself sharply, but she felt a greater sympathy for Simon. No doubt he did not lie consciously; no doubt he felt the same urge, the same sneaking conviction that he would love forever as she had begun to feel. Nonetheless, no man was ever faithful, and one like Simon least of all. Too many women followed him, called to him, offered themselves to him. And she was not sure she would love him forever, no matter what she felt right now. |
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At first, sleep would not come, and when it did it brought such dreams of mingled ecstasy and terror all dappled with blood that Rhiannon started awake sweating. Math leapt onto the bed and walked up her chest, purring loudly. She stroked him, and the soft sleekness of his vibrating body assured her of reality. Yet the dream shadowed her waking, and it was not, as her dreams usually were, clear in memory. She tried to pick it apart, to determine whether the joy had engendered the terror or whether they were two separate things, but even that she could not do. |
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To Rhiannon, dreams were not to be ignored. They were true foreshadowingsif properly interpreted. But the maelstrom of joy and fear she had experienced could not be disentangled for interpretation. However, as she lay sleepless in the dim light of the night candle, the pleasure took a greater hold on her mind, and that was most unusual. Mostly, with dreams, it was the terror that grew until all else shrank into insignificance. Without clear memory, however, there could be no true guidance. She tried to blank her mind and concentrate wholly on Math's rhythmic purring on which she could float into sleep. |
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Simon had no bad dreams, but he had found sleep equally elusive. In England he had not been celibate. It had never entered his mind that when Rhiannon |
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