He had almost forced himself upon her one night after a particularly bloody raid of a thatched cottage. He was in trouble and she could not help him; that was the ache in her heart. Now, it was a wilderness of weeds. Her lips were apart, but no breath seemed to issue from them; and, but for a slight—very slight palpitation of the bosom, the vital principle might be supposed to be extinct. The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided.
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