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. The doctor sensed that his bolt had gone wrong, but he could not tell how or why. Earles said, rubbing his hands together, “by post. I’ve told them all that was necessary, but I— wanted to ask your pardon—for having made myself a nuisance to you, and for breaking into your rooms—and to thank you—the doctor says you bound up my wound—or I should have bled to death. But with the morning, the glorious unstained morning the passion of living would stir even the blood of a clod.
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