After all, if one could wait twenty years or more in between bouts of lovemaking, one could certainly wait a few more days. “You have killed me. He drew a little breath of relief. " "I'm afraid I don't understand. He talked very little and rather absently. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. What has been the matter?” “Toothache,” he answered laconically. Too much, perhaps. Wood, who had recovered her good humour, quitted the room she bestowed a hearty embrace on Thames, and she told him laughingly, that she would "defer all she had to propose to him until to-morrow.
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