What of that?" "Vot 'o that!" echoed Sharples, peevishly: "Everythin'. Still —there you are!” He paused. She savored the sweetness of his lips, all of his great youth and passion and longed for his innocence, his complete lack of the knowledge of terrible things. Her cheeks seemed to burn, her veins ran riot, and her heart was beating so fast that she was sure he must feel it through his scarlet coat.
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