She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. She got home every night in time to cook supper and it was good money. One might have said that these trees grieved for their native soil; and, grieving, refused to bear. Vorsack echoed him. “Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms.
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