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. She helped herself to the remainder of the slightly congealed bacon, and reverted to the problem of getting her luggage out of the house. How does one get work? She walked along the Strand and across Trafalgar Square, and by the Haymarket to Piccadilly, and so through dignified squares and palatial alleys to Oxford Street; and her mind was divided between a speculative treatment of employment on the one hand, and breezes—zephyr breezes—of the keenest appreciation for London, on the other. ‘I have told you, a whip it is nothing. “John, of course I forgive you if it is what you need from me. The man was my husband. Without you I should never have recovered either health or reason.
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