So dreadful were these shouts as to produce an effect upon the hardened feelings of Jonathan, who shrank out of sight. “Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently. He took her there on the cold, dirty floor, his nails digging into her back, his teeth sinking into her breasts. She could smell him almost as strongly as she could the new paint on the fire escape walls, along with the wool suit and the weird polyester smell of his wet umbrella.
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