said. By degrees they got more excited and their tones grew louder, and as I listened it did not seem to me that the man's voice was that of Mr Durieux, although this Guillaume—whoever he was—spoke likewise in a goatish way.
But what could they be doing so long together?I turned my head as much as I could, I strained my eyes to their utmost corners.
They were, now, standing close together kissing. She was holding his pizzle, and—I think—rubbing it. He had uplifted her shift and his hand was between her legs. He must have been patting her pussy.
I twisted my head round a little more, now I could see them pretty well, it was not Guillaume Durieux, the junior master, but Guillaume Chretien, a senior scholar, a young Marseillais of about 17, the sturdiest fellow of the whole school.
They seemed to be enjoying their little game, so I asked myself if this was futtering, or if it was only the preliminaries. After they had been amusing themselves a little in that way, they both disappeared behind the
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