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The man's hand under the table gently grasped hers, his thumb softly stroking the skin on the back of her hand. Then, he reversed his grip, interlocking their fingers tightly, gradually tightening.
His palm was warm and dry, with a light callus. Initially, he only gently held her delicate and boneless hand, touching it, his finger pad repeatedly stroking the back of her hand, her palm. Slowly, his hand moved upward, reaching her wrist, using his thumb pad to stroke the softest skin on the inside of her forearm.
She was scorched by the heat of his palm and instinctively tried to withdraw her hand but failed.
He held her hand tightly.
She was startled and looked up at him.
His hand under the table entwined with her fingers, yet he maintained a gentlemanly demeanor on the surface, looking out the window with an unmoved expression.
She stared at him blankly...
After a moment, he turned his face to look at her and said, "It's snowing."
