\" She cooed into his ear, stroking his chest hair. The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. "Suppose we go and have tea? I'd like to take you to a teahouse I know, but we'll go to the Victoria instead. His mom was a famous model. These little squares of coloured paper interested her mightily—hotel labels. She felt she must get him talking upon some impersonal theme at any cost.
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