In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. ” She said as she rested her head against his chest, eyes unfocused on the fading sky. She wished she had not stood up. The room in which she sat was a portion of the garret, assigned, as we have just stated, by Mr. Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms.
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