“The young gentleman, by Phoebe's guess, was about two and twenty; tall and well limbed. (…)
then his grand movement, which seemed to rise out of a thicket of curling hair, that spread from the root all over his thighs and belly up to the navel, stood stiff and upright, but of a size to frighten me, by sympathy for the small tender part which was the object of its fury,
and which now lay exposed to my fairest view; for he had, immediately on stoppings off his shirt, gently pushed her down on the couch,
which stood conveniently to break her willing fall. Her thighs were spread out to their utmost extention, and discovered between them the mark of the s**,
the red-centered cleft of flesh, whose lips vermillioning inwards, expressed a small ruby line in sweet miniature, such as guide's touch or colouring: could never attain to the life or delicacy of.”
