She climbed back into the window an hour before sunrise. ” “It’s an unrest—a longing—What’s that?” The waiter had intervened. Once over the iron spikes, Bess exhibited no reluctance to be let down on the other side of the wall. She followed him about persistently, and succeeded, after a brisk, unchivalrous struggle (in which he pinched and asked her to “cheese it”), in kissing him among the raspberries behind the greenhouse. No one spoke, and she was impelled to flounder on.
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