You’re a piss-poor liar, John. 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. " "I'll bring you an armful this afternoon. ” “What?” “That’s the devil of it!” “Devil of what?. That's one of the troubles with young folks: they take themselves so seriously. ‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. I think too much about myself. With this she now entered. But I do not know you at all, in truth, and I do not understand why you do this.
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