"I yield to fate. For fifteen years!—so long as I can remember! All I wanted was a little love, a caress now and then. ‘Jacques!’ He stopped, but he did not turn. He regretted now that in his idle hours he hadn't hunted up one against the rainy day. She was shifting, moving back. "To shoot you would be to lose the reward. I'm not sure I'd go out with him anyway. " "Shall I tell you a real story?" "Something you have seen?" "Yes. But something instinctive prevented that, and with the finest resolve not to be “silly” and prudish she found that whenever he became at all bold in this matter she became severely scientific and impersonal, almost entomological indeed, in her method; she killed every remark as he made it and pinned it out for examination.
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