A few minutes later Sir John left the room. Wood's bed-chamber—it was locked, with the key left in it. It had ceased raining, but the atmosphere was moist and chill, and the ground deluged by the recent showers. “Promise me that you’ll never tell another living soul, John. When I gave him an invitation to supper, I little thought he'd accept it. They sucked face and felt each other up, or something.
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