Boyd Emerson Slept Well That Night, Notwithstanding The Disturbing
Occurrences Of The Day, For During The Evening Cherry Had Tactfully
Diverted Him From All Mention Of Business, Trusts, Or Canneries, Much As A
Good Physical Director, On The Eve Of A Contest, Relieves The Grinding
Monotony Of An Athlete's Training. The Brain, After All, Is But Flesh And
Blood, And, Like The Muscles, Requires Rest; An Unbroken Intensity Of
Contemplation Tends Inevitably To Weariness And Pessimism.
They Had Dined Gayly, Tete-A-Tete, While Care Fled Before The Girl's
Exuberant Spirits. Contentment Had Deepened In The Companionable Enjoyment
Of A Play, And Later A Little Supper-Party, At Which Big George And Alton
Clyde Were Present, Had Completed Boyd's Mental Refreshment, To Cherry's
Haley loves only one thing. Sex. She loves nothing or no one else. Or does she? She has sex every weekend night, but she has never actually had feelings for anyone. Read Haley's unknown quest for love, and enjoy!
NOT FOR ANYONE UNDER 16! WARNING: CONTAINS SEX, SWEAR WORDS AND GAYS/BISEXUALS! [more][Less]
L. T. Meade was the pseudonym of Elizabeth Thomasina Meade Smith (1844–1914), a prolific writer of girls' stories. She was born in Bandon, County Cork, Ireland, daughter of Rev. R. T. Meade, of Nohoval, County Cork. She later moved to London, where she married Alfred Toulmin Smith in September 1879. [more][Less]