Finally, at a half past five, he was there, in her little lair, her bordello of happiness and his heart beat so strongly, even painfully, in his chest that it radiated up his neck and past his ears until he could easily count his pulse banging away at his eardrums. She was breathtaking, and now she reclined, like Bathsheba, her long tresses moved aside, revealing all her womanly charms.
She was so clean, as she lay, legs splayed, her feet bare, the soles pink as a baby’s. Even her feet, toenails and fingernails were clean. She smelled heavenly.
She smiled a decadent smile at old Eli; she was actually enjoying this a little. He was mesmerized; she could do anything to him at this point. She could make him end his own life if she had it in her to do so; but she didn’t. She knew he was a pretty good prospector and if she could endure an hour with him, she might get him to come back with chunk after chunk of the yellow gold. She could be rich after half a dozen hours.
“Pour us a drink, Eli.” Allingham