The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. “You asked me in to tea,” he protested. ’ Pierced to the heart by the poignancy of this utterance, Gerald could neither move nor speak. The misty caravans of which she had dreamed were become actualities. Some one was standing beside him. She found a clean sweatshirt and soft pajama pants, glad to trade the wet for the dry.
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