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The smooth trim Marseille Express burrowed its way swiftly through the clear night of the French country side. A large pale summer moon hung low in the distance.
Kevin Taylor watched its shimmering light moving against the darkened ceiling of his sleeper compartment. It flickered hypnotically in unison to the rhythmic roll of the train beneath his bunk. Cool air from the open window played across his naked well-built body which covered the whole of the narrow bed. He was alone.
Damn, he thought miserably, what a hell of a way to spend a honeymoon.
He drug deeply on the almost finished cigarette squeezed tightly between his thumb and forefinger. His brow was wrinkled in deep thought.
He had reason to think. Ahead of him in Marseille his bride was waiting after running out on him their first night together in Paris. Utter, utter stupidity, he grimaced, the details of their last hour together flickering through his mind like the reel of an old silent movie.
Perhaps he had been a little rough, but by God she had it coming to her. He had fought with her the entire year of their engagement about giving in to him and had tried to explain that virginity had gone out of style.
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.