Yes. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. Womanhood is sacred to me. His shirt also was unbuttoned, and disclosed a neck like that of an ox, and a chest which might have served as a model for a Hercules. We've never caught him cheating at cards; too clever; but we know he cheats. Now he lay there, a doubled-up mass, with ugly distorted features, and a dark wet stain dripping slowly on to the carpet. He was not, in truth, much of a ladies’ man. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she threw at him, her brief attack of sobs already ended, although the trace of tears on her cheeks bore witness to its sincerity.
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