"I've been always true to you. . . He slapped his knee. Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. He jumped back, cursing. Arrived at Paddington, he struck across Marylebone Fields,—for as yet the New Road was undreamed of,—and never moderated his speed until he reached the city. A few seasons went by where he initiated her into the disgusting rituals of killing and eating human beings, a dark time where she pined for a rescuer who never arrived. But about the unknown Englishman she was not so satisfied. Mountains out of molehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself in one direction and shatter yourself in the other. “Don’t!” she said, weakly, as he had bent down and put one arm about her and seized her hands with his disengaged hand and kissed her—kissed her almost upon her lips. For fifteen years!—so long as I can remember! All I wanted was a little love, a caress now and then.
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