She responded as he slipped his hands under her sweater. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. She guessed that he probably slept all of three hours a night at most. Crossing several fields, newly mown, or filled with lines of tedded hay, she arrived, not without great exertion, at the summit of a hill. This mitigated her remorse enormously.
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