It was the day I borrowed a pencil; the day we first spoke to one another. 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. It was a work of no slight danger, for every instant a wall, or fragment of a building, came crashing to the ground. He roused curiosities. “You certainly are. ’ Melusine threw her hands in the air. ‘No!’ Melusine snapped as he tugged at the thing. Agreeably he helped her take the shirt off. Now it is—’ ‘What are you doing still here, missie, that’s what I’d like to know?’ demanded the man Trodger, sticking to his guns. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster.
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