“Perhaps,” he said, “I have been to blame. The touch of her hands was pleasurable. They did not speak until he had driven past town limits and were on the highway. ‘While you are making me this interrogation, my poor Jacques bleeds to death. He removed his cockaded hat, putting it down between them as he sat at the other end, placing himself at an angle and, crossing his legs, leaned back at his ease, his eyes fixed on her face.
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