” Anna drew out her purse at once. Planting his knee against her side, he pulled her towards him with one hand, while with the other he sought his knife. I wonder how it is,” she added, “that boys always make love so impertinently. "How shall I get to you?" "My yacht is in the river. The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated. I’m not a lovesick boy.
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