It was in another world from that in which men will die for a kiss, and touching hands lights fires that burn up lives—the world of romance, the world of passionately beautiful things. ‘You mean that his missus is pretending to be my mistress? Lord-a-mercy!’ ‘Precisely. Better even than these. 207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. " "O Jack, dear, dear Jack!" cried Mrs.
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