But, you see, she HAS to lie up. And every day's experience proves that I was right. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical. It'll be turning over to-morrow. She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor. She understood. " "My boots! Fire and fury! They won't fit you; they are too large. CHAPTER XVI. ‘But what is it that amuses you, Jacques?’ Kimble’s grin spread wider. ‘You’re as mad as she is, Gerald.
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