” “The faults are the best part of it,” said Ann Veronica; “why, even our little vicious strains run the same way. She sat on the edge of the bed overwhelmed, the roses cradled in her arms. I wonder how it is,” she added, “that boys always make love so impertinently. Not up here, I think. She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup.
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