Her time and effort was justly rewarded, because the hard cold facts she knew about neighborhood intrigues were better than fictional soap operas. He was a stranger. She finished the olive and looked up. Then she sat watching the play, sometimes offering a helpful suggestion, sometimes letting her attention wander to the smoothly shining arms she had folded across her knees just below the edge of the table. She is Bohemian to the fingertips. 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. ” Lucy added, growing weary.
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