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Dominique Carter placed the highball in the hand of the buxom blonde and stepped back, her deep green eyes smiling felinely.
“Go on, dear, there’s no harm in it,” she coaxed. “It’s just a little highball.”
But Ellen Winthrop, whose father had died nine months previous after an acute bout with alcoholism, shook her pretty head firmly. Her satiny soft long blonde hair flew attractively around her perfectly oval youthful face. The long dark lashes over her sparkling, innocent blue
eyes fluttered as she refused, saying, “Oh, but I couldn’t, Mrs. Carter. My mother wouldn’t permit it.”
Dominique smiled indulgently and took the glass from her again. She shook out her long red hair and said sweetly, “Well, that’s right,
dear. You should always do what your mother tells you.” Damnit, a small voice whispered inside her head.
Not that this terrible primness didn’t make their lovely young neighbor all the more intoxicating company. At times Dominique suspected that it
was this very naivete that was driving herself and her husband Maxwell so wild with anticipation. Ellen was so unremittingly good that Maxwell
was really going out of his mind for her.
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.