‘Laisse-moi,’ she panted, shifting wildly in his hold, so that he had all to do to keep her thus imprisoned. He has been lodged in every round-house in the metropolis, and has broken out of them all, and boasts that no prison can hold him. ‘This is not love, Marthe. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb.
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