He has no imagination, no real generosity. “You poor thing. Shall we turn back?" "And disappoint Mr. There isn’t a husband breathing, Annabel, who wouldn’t have blessed that pistol in your hands, and prayed God that the bullet might go straight. “I wonder,” he said, “how you would like to be made love to—boldly or timorously or sentimentally. " "I'm convinced of it," replied Shotbolt; "and it was on that very account I came here. “You delicate female!” “Who cares,” said Ann Veronica, “seeing it’s you? Warm, soft little wonders! Of course I want them. “I don’t mind, of course, your seeing her sometimes, still there are differences— differences in social atmospheres. Something that is born anew each time we meet, and pines when we are separated. Like a trollop in heat. " "Oh!" exclaimed the widow, covering her face with her hands.
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