\" \"Not this Saturday, sweetie. She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor. "Then his case is hopeless. ’ ‘How do I know that?’ demanded Jack. “In two days,” she reflected, “Mrs. You don’t want to miss the sport. I can’t explain—” They regarded one another, each blinded to the other.
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