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The gale had become a hurricane: that hurricane was the most terrible that ever laid waste our city. She was perhaps three-and-twenty, and very pink and healthy-looking, showing a great deal of white and rounded neck above her business-like but altogether feminine blouse, and a good deal of plump, gesticulating forearm out of her short sleeve. She was looking anxiously at the entrance to the restaurant. 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. “What about blood banks? Have you ever tried them?” “I don’t just take blood, John. “I shall never be able to thank you.
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