Dipping her fingers into scented oils, slipping her wrist through what looked like a swansdown manacle, Constance tried to conjure up the dark and pleasurable world that her sister had inhabited.  What would it be like?  How would it feel to be her?  To sin with a virile man, a potent man, a desirable man?  A man who found no shame in indulging his desire?  She closed her eyes, caressed her cheek with the feathers of the manacle and shivered.  Here in this temple of the flesh, which was Annalisa’s domain, it was almost possible to imagine the exquisite pleasure that might result.  Arousal rippled through her.