She was nestled under his bedspread. Flesh and blood, vivid, alluring; she was no longer the symbol, therefore she had become, as in the twinkling of an eye, an utter stranger. “DON’T!” she said, and wrenched her wrist from his retaining hand. "The devil!" ejaculated Jonathan. But, not daring to confess his want of comprehension, he made a profound reverence, and retired. What a girl of sixteen cares for is hair and a high color and moonlight and a tenor voice.
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