. . oh! . . . I can't bear it . . . It is
too much . . . I die . . . I am going . . ." were Polly's
expressions of extasy: his joys were more silent; but soon
broken murmurs, sighs heart-fetch'd, and at length a dis-
patching thrust, as if he would have forced himself up her
body, and then motionless languor of all his limbs, all
shewed that the die-away moment was come upon him; which
she gave signs of joining with, by the wild throwing of her
hands about, closing her eyes, and giving a deep sob, in
which she seemed to expire in an agony of bliss.
When he had finish'd his stroke, and got from off her,
she lay still without the least motion, breathless, as it
should seem, with pleasure. He replaced her again breadth-
wise on the couch, unable to sit up, with her thighs open,
between which I could observe a kind of white liquid, like
froth, hanging about the outward lips of that recently
opened wound, which now glowed with a deeper red. Pre-
sently she gets up, and throwing her arms round him, seemed
far from undelighted with the trial he had put her to, to
judge at least by the fondness with which she ey'd and hung
upon him.
For my part, I will not pretend to describe what I
felt all over me during this scene; but from that instant,
adieu all fears of what man could do unto me; they were now
changed into such ardent desires, such ungovernable longings,
that I could have pull'd the first of that sex that should
present himself, by the sleeve, and offered him the bauble,
which I now imagined the loss of would be a gain I could not
too soon procure myself.
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