” She thanked him with one of her shy little glances. But his astonishment would have been great indeed had he known that not even her father had ever caressed her, either with lips or with hands. The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. He would condemn her to the vengeance of the mob all for refusing to marry him. Distress like hers might palliate far greater offences than she ever committed.
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