Ignatius Leclair gave her a deep, foxlike glance, noticing her small face almost completely hidden by the pillow, enjoying herself like a sly little fox. He couldn't help but curl his lips, and with an unchanged expression, he picked out a book and began to read in a deep, sexy voice:
The town had a new family move in, it was a young widow, with a lotus-like face and willow leaf eyebrows. As she walked, she swayed like a slender willow, instantly attracting the attention of all the men on the street.
Next door to the widow lived a blacksmith, a twenty-seven or twenty-eight-year-old man, whose parents had passed and had yet to marry. He spent his days forging iron, with a tall and fierce physique, his arms rippling with muscles that made girls from ten miles away blush at the sight.
One day the young widow went to the blacksmith's to have a stove made. She only heard the blacksmith say, "Young lady, there are ready-made iron stoves in the backyard, come with me to fetch one."
