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. He was amused. ‘But you said she was looking for proof. ‘Not kill me, I mean. It was precious for two reasons: it was the photograph of her beautiful mother whom she could not remember, and it would identify her to the aunt in Hartford. She had, poor inexperienced fool, given herself away.
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