She moved beautifully, proudly, her broad shoulders back, her full breasts thrust up and forward, accentuating the narrowness of her waist and the lus...ness of her hips. ‘A few other women might be your equal,’ I said, ‘though off hand I do not know any, but no one could be more beautiful. It simply is not possible.’ She seemed pleased to please me and smiled. ‘What are you reading,’ she asked, glancing at the book I had set aside at her approach. ‘A biography of Timur Lenk, known to the West as. "I smiled into the darkness. "I suppose it does." Can I try some?" she asked sweetly."Little girls shouldn't drink vodka." Does mommy like vodka?" Not this kind." But she drinks the regular kind, right? And she's little." Yes, she sometimes drinks vodka. But your mommy's not little, she's just small. It's not the same thing." Please daddy?" she wheedled, shifting her shoulders and back against my chest with a gentle rocking motion that was powerfully reminiscent of the way her mother moved her. More

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