When it came time to eat once again, she hid out on the beach, a remote fastness beyond the city walls, a swampy morass that everyone avoided. “It’s the spring,” he said. ‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid. We came on here at once. “Why should I bear the burden of your wickedness? Who knows what might come of it? I shall permit nothing of the sort. We’re different. Besides ——” She stopped short. On the fifth day he had ventured speech with her.
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