Hemingway was true to his word, although it could never be said that it was a hardship to let his fingers explore her exposed skin. It would have been much more difficult for him to keep them to himself.
He listened intently, finding that he really did enjoy every word of it, his writer's imagination just going wild as he painted the picture inside his head. "Hell, I'm not surprised. A body like yours? Poor bastards didn't stand a chance," he told her, pressing a little kiss to her collarbone as a sort of reward for the tale.