Her belly was being touched, she felt her thighs caressed softly. Somebody ought to talk to him, warn him. “I want you to kiss me,” she said. Sheppard. Ramage pursed his rather loose lips and shrugged his shoulders, with his eyes fixed steadily upon her. Wood, glancing angrily at her husband. “All right so far,” she said to herself. In vain Wood protested his innocence. The mode of destruction makes no difference. “And to think that it’s not a full year ago since I was a black-hearted rebel school-girl, distressed, puzzled, perplexed, not understanding that this great force of love was bursting its way through me! All those nameless discontents—they were no more than love’s birth-pangs. Her knees shook, her breath came fast, she almost felt the lurid effect of those tiny patches of rouge upon her pallor-stricken cheeks. But this plan (probably from its danger) was instantly abandoned; not, however, before her momentary hesitation had been taken advantage of by her pursuers, who, redoubling their efforts at this juncture, materially lessened the distance between them.
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