Darting quickly to the chest that contained the priest’s vestments, she leapt onto it and reached her arm down to scrabble behind it on the floor. He yielded his place and struck instead with his tongue. Oh God! my limbs fail me. Tell me a story—with apple-blossoms in it—about people who are happy. “Oh, I am lonely,” she moaned. But what he could do or might do she could not imagine.
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