‘Come, cry a truce. She must get to the vestry. That’s about the beginning. Suddenly she felt her wrist grasped by a strong hand. There was a lapse of time, an interval of blackness; then he found his hand in hers and she was leading him at a run up the side of the mountain. He did not know—and probably never would unless she told him—that it was very easy (and comfortable for a woman) to fall into slatternly ways in this latitude.
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