"Fool!" he cried, "do you think I wouldn't have secured you before this if I hadn't some motive for my forbearance?" "And that motive is fear," replied Jack contemptuously. “Because you used to be my friend, Lucy, and now I don’t get to see you anymore unless I can get into your house. ‘Do not think—’ he panted, ‘that I am finished—with you, mademoiselle. A dresser, a washstand, and a clothes press. "Was that thunder?" he faltered, as a terrible clap was heard overhead. I was being stupid. “Not like it’s your fault if you wake up one day and decide you hanker for a nice piece of ass, a ten-minute tumble.
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