My mother, I'm sure, didn't intend to hurt your feelings. In vain Wood protested his innocence. I'm burning to get to work. “Your coffee’s too good to refuse. But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered. . Her faculties seemed for a moment numbed. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. Of course she had taken the boy as her lover, acting as his muse.
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