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She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor. ‘You wound me to the heart, Melusine. A short way off in the fields he descried a sort of shed or cow-house, and thither he contrived to drag his weary limbs. “Certainly I was a little way off at the café, and she had a hat and veil on, but I could have sworn that it was ‘Alcide. It would make the young wife unhappy. It is enough to make a man throw away canvas and brushes into the bottomless precipices, enough to make one weep with despair at his utter and absolute impotence. —Sorry to quit your lord—worships, I mean,—I don't know what I mean," she added, a little confused, and dropping a profound curtsey to the disguised noblemen, each of whom replied by a bow, worthy, in her opinion, of a prince of the blood at the least,—"but I've a few necessary orders to give below. Of this boy she had only caught a glimpse;—but that glimpse was sufficient to satisfy her it was her son,—and, if she could have questioned her own instinctive love, she could not question her antipathy, when she beheld, partly concealed by a pillar immediately in the rear of the woollen-draper, the dark figure and truculent features of Jonathan Wild.
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