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. "I am very wicked," she said. “You must pack for me. ” Hill looked up at him, an unkempt, rough-looking object, with broken collar, tumbled hair, and the blood slowly dripping from his face. ‘—and I love your raven hair, and your bright blue eyes, and your very kissable lips—’ suiting the action to the words ‘—and I love the crazy way you speak English, and the way you curse at me. I have strength enough to drag myself there, and I do not want to return. "I've been wondering, until this morning, if you were real.
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