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You know—I worship you. She did not understand the note of hostility to men that ran through it all, the bitter vindictiveness that lit Miss Miniver’s cheeks and eyes, the sense of some at last insupportable wrong slowly accumulated. When I examined you for ‘ill humors’ I longed to run my hands over your entire body, to touch your face, to caress you in the places that would give you pleasure. And her kind of love forgives everything and anything but infidelity. It amounted to two-and-twenty pounds.
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