Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. "You've ruined my hopes. But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered. ’ She waved towards a handy table to one side which was piled high with so many volumes, it looked in imminent danger of crashing to the floor. I’m not a lovesick boy. ‘I do not know how you think you may help me,’ she said slowly. They had cried a little, both. III.
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