“Is everything OK?!” Dad was practically screaming into the phone. “Yeah, everything’s fine dad. Hey, I gotta go, but I can’t wait to see you!” “Oh...OK... You too, baby!” I shook the phone off in an attempt to get some of the cum off before hanging up. “Ugh, sorry about that,” I sighed, and tossed the phone onto the beach bag. I looked up at Jamie; he was a wreck, still holding onto the branch, panting like the police were chasing him.“Are you OK, baby?” I smiled and reached up to run my hand along the length of his hip. “Candi,” is all he could say. Remnants of the sunset cast orange shadows all across his pounding chest. A soft breeze offered temporary relief from the scorching heat. I turned back to the waves; they casually reflected blades of light off its crystal clear surface, “I better get going, I’m going out tonight and I still need to go home and get ready,” I said, admiring the sunset. “Oh. It’s still early though ...um, I’m having some friends over the apartment tonight. The night passed. Mr. Fogg went to bed, but did he sleep? Aouda did not once close her eyes. Passepartout watched all night, like a faithful dog, at his master’s door. Mr. Fogg called him in the morning, and told him to get Aouda’s breakfast, and a cup of tea and a chop for himself. He desired Aouda to excuse him from breakfast and dinner, as his time would be absorbed all day in putting his affairs to rights. In the evening he would ask permission to have a few moments’ conversation with the young lady. Passepartout, having received his orders, had nothing to do but obey them. He looked at his imperturbable master, and could scarcely bring his mind to leave him. His heart was full, and his conscience tortured by remorse, for he accused himself more bitterly than ever of being the cause of the irretrievable disaster. Yes! if he had warned Mr. Fogg, and had betrayed Fix’s projects to him, his master would certainly not have given the detective passage to Liverpool, and then—.
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