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. “You seem to have cultivated quite a jaunty appearance, and you certainly look years younger. “Loneliness,” she said, “is a luxury which I never permit myself. Some indeed carried themselves, dressed themselves even, rather as foreign visitors from the land of “Looking Backward” and “News from Nowhere” than as the indigenous Londoners they were.
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