The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. She stood there limply and did not act to resist him. But take a drop of wine," urged he, filling a drinking-horn and presenting it to her; "it's choice canary, and'll do you good. Manning loved her presented itself to her bloodlessly, stilled from any imaginative quiver or thrill of passion or disgust. “I am tired,” she said, “and I want to rest.
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