For a moment, Sibel seemed as unattainable as a priceless view of the Holy Virgin, but then her warm, red lips smile lit up, and Walter remembered how her body writhed under his weight. Yes, she was a virgin, but not by sight, and not a saint. Definitely not a saint, he thought, when Lady Eleanor, having taken him by one arm, and Lord Ian, holding the other, easily pushed it forward. Perhaps the gleam in his eyes Sibel was called passion, but not the joys of celibacy and not heaven, where, supposedly, there was no marriage.
21 Great Ways to Live to Be 100
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