She pulled at his tee shirt again, wishing to feel his naked chest upon hers. She wondered if the second part would overcome his objections? Several times the words had rushed to her tongue, to find her tongue paralysed. I'd do anything for Thames Darrell. She donned her fuzzy slippers and traipsed downstairs, the welcoming smell of coffee beckoning her, the sound of Looney Toons music barely audible from the television set. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. “Very well,” she would say, “then I must go.
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