“I look older. ‘I begin to ask myself why it is that I wish to become of these people. But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered. “It’s the stir of spring,” he said. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. Her eyebrows were lifted in expostulation. “Don’t you understand, Nigel,” she said softly, “that it was precisely for this I have worked so hard. .
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