Her linen gown was soft against the heavy skins. I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. Kneebone—she was too well acquainted; having, more than once, been obliged to repel his advances; and, though his impertinence would have given her little concern at another season, it now added considerably to her distraction. He now understood her interest in Taber, as he called himself: habit, a twice-told tale.
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