" "I'll bet she still smells to heaven with sour coconut. Her mother informed her of the betrothal on the first painful day of her menarche, shortly after her eleventh birthday. ‘I kissed you once, didn’t I?’ Her pulses jumped and she stared. "Is this a season to speak on such a subject?" "Perhaps not," rejoined the woollen-draper; "but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse. It’s all nonsense. Anyhow, it were me as got you down to the wetnurse. Tell me. Manning. Thought she was a nun at first. ’ She turned and swept away from him, pacing the length of the room to the window Gerald had unshuttered.
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