At the eastern gate of the churchyard stood the carriage with the steps lowered. Poor girl! she was beautiful once; so beautiful as to make me, who care little for the allurements of women, fancy myself enamoured of her. Its walled heaved with black mildew and sea-salt. “You’re burning up. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. The pouting cherry lips were slightly parted and the very faintest of panting breaths, together with the quick rise and fall of an alluring bosom, betrayed her fear. But a total stranger, a man you never saw twentyfour hours ago! It can't be thought of. Ray Plote was most certainly feeling restless, what if he had left the house for the evening? She needed to eat.
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