As they passed beneath the thick trees that shade the road to Dollis Hill, the gloom was almost impenetrable. Every care had been taken of it, as well as of himself, by the humane inmates of the house in which he had sought shelter. Clotilde pried Fritz from Lucy’s left leg where he was clinging. She nibbled at his neck gently, sweetly, as her hand tracing his chest. “I am glad,” she told herself, “I came. Something that is born anew each time we meet, and pines when we are separated. .
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