Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. Of course she had taken the boy as her lover, acting as his muse. It is bad policy. He had a peculiar way of stepping in, in a parry; knew his arm, and its just time of moving; put a firm faith in that, and never let his opponent escape. “I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. Anything that had love in it! The doctor comprehended that he also had his work cut out.
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