She was standing before a window, against the background of the rain-burdened April sky. And then if some day Capes wanted her—saw fit to alter his views upon friendship. 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. She remained for some seconds crouching at the fender, poker in hand. ‘My papa he does not wish me to marry the man I choose, and thus he places me in the convent that the nuns may lock me up and I cannot escape.
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