The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. Fas du tout. He did not play golf, but took his exercise on horseback, which was also unsympathetic. They were in many respects so right; she clung to that, and shirked more and more the paradoxical conviction that they were also somehow, and even in direct relation to that rightness, absurd. Ain’t enough as I’ve got militiamen quartered on me this se’ennight, lazing about all day, eating me out of house and home and drinking my liquor into the bargain. . End of Project Gutenberg's Anna the Adventuress, by E. .
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