It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. “We were bound to do this when you kissed me,” she sobbed through her tears. "You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously. He had need of all the inexhaustible energy of his character to support him through his toilsome walk over the wet grass, or along the slippery ploughed land. “It’s about forty pounds.
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