She took the initiative and guided his fingers inside her and bore down. Before he could fire a second shot, Jack had to defend himself from the thieftaker, who, with his drawn hanger, furiously assaulted him. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. Behind the Avenue was a little hill, and an iron-fenced path went over the crest of this to a stile under an elm-tree, and forked there, with one branch going back into the Avenue again. Hadn’t they settled that already? “I want you as a friend,” he persisted, almost as if he disputed something.
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