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He did not know whether he was of interest to Camille, who had read as many treatises as Gratian had never dreamed.
He did not know anything, except that Camilla is the only mind in this wilderness, equal to him, that she is unbearably good, that she has sparkling agate eyes, from which it cuts to the heart, and that there is no hope for more than chance encounters it is not.
From time to time, neighboring girls were brought to him – big-breasted, sad and fearful.

Sometimes they were accompanied by a mother or mother-in-law.
Afrany was lying on the bed, and the girl, undressed, was licking his phallus.

Sometimes the mother showed her how to do it, sometimes they licked his phallus together – both the head and the eggs.
Then the girl, wrinkling with shame and contempt for herself, saddled him, put on his phallus and swayed on him, and her mother helped her, caressing Afraniyu eggs and anus.
Girls rarely poured seed, most often Aphranius first injected into them a portion of fiery liquid, enjoying the sweet girlish bosom – the phallus dipped into it, like a soft peach.

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Sometimes, if the girl was beautiful, Afrany caressed her, kissed her nipples, hugged, hugged her, imagining that it was Camilla.
Then the girl left, having received her sestertia.
On the street her lover was waiting for her, she gave him the proceeds, told about the impressions – and they went home, hugging, and Afrany looked at them from the window, thinking of Camille.
And Camille is in his casemates.
Camilla, HIM Camilla.
Aphranius was accustomed to agony and to death, as to air.
They were associated for him with the war, with the campaigns, and more recently with the casemates.
But the life of the people he saw around him — ordinary life with her life, habits and trifles — was not combined in his mind with torture and blood.
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