Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. Do have some tea, won’t you? If you must, go then. You belong to me, and I have waited long enough. ” “I suppose we are,” said Vee, rearranging the flowers in her hand. During all their long comradeship he had never so much as ventured to hold her fingers. Sydney sprang up. . ‘I’m only a poor country wench, child. And when, at length, it was struck, he wanted energy to pursue his advantages.
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