When I examined you for ‘ill humors’ I longed to run my hands over your entire body, to touch your face, to caress you in the places that would give you pleasure. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. ” “If it were all true,” he said doggedly, “it may still be possible. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again.
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