Men had tried to kiss her— unshaven derelicts, some of them terrible—but she had always managed to escape. Then he understood. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. And Ramage too—about Ramage there would always be that air of avidity, that air of knowledge and inquiry, the mixture of things in his talk that were rather good with things that were rather poor. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. But she had found it very difficult. She had become much healthier, and she did not recoil when he kissed her bare neck as it elicited good feelings from all of the regions of her body. . Fresh ground, no chicory, and all the rest of it. "'T is he!" he mentally ejaculated.
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