Amelia looked awful; hair, usually so soft and feathery, was limp. She was so pale.Lifting her glasses, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, ...ave me a half-hearted smile, and reached for my hand. Her touch was delicate and her hand ice cold.Peter looked at me from behind her.“What did you do to her?” I asked in a whisper.Then all the memories flooded back. I inhaled sharply and winced at the pain. “Where’s Rufus? Is he okay?”Amelia nodded. She finally spoke. “He’s at the vet. I had seen the type in usually much older women but she was one of those that must have been born with the attitude. In all honesty, it was not an attitude that turned me off, in fact, I found it oddly stimulating because I wanted to "prove myself" to them in ways that they would come to see was far in excess of their expectations and want to retain me for future dalliance. That type of female, once trained to respond properly, was truly a gem in disguise and well worth the effort. I could tell. More

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