Her shoulders began to ache. The blouse dried nicely, it would only need a touch of starch and a little ironing. The likelihood is that I shan’t see the wench again. She dropped on her knees by his side, and gently unbuttoned his waistcoat. If I were to marry you now I should feel a dependent being all my life—a sort of parasitical creature without blood or muscle. CHAPTER XXVIII.
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