" "Ha!" ejaculated Trenchard. She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor. So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. She had fallen asleep on the wooden bed, uncaring of lice or bedbugs. Well, kill me. ’ ‘I have found Mary Remenham’s daughter,’ he repeated. He folded the garments carefully and replaced them on the chair. As for the doctor, he found a pleasure in this service that would have puzzled him had he paused to analyse it. Something that is born anew each time we meet, and pines when we are separated. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed.
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