He carried her in his arms up the steps, like a bride on her honeymoon. During all their long comradeship he had never so much as ventured to hold her fingers. Cool and sunny, it seemed that God himself smiled upon that day, the sunbeams streaming through the magnificent arches dustily as the priest murmured in soporific Latin. ‘That rascally knave sent you to become a French nun?’ Looking positively terrified, the girl nodded dumbly. But, uttering a loud cry, he was swept away by the headlong torrent. She had almost chosen to prostitute herself rather than live in that animal state once, but had found a warm cave in Kentucky just as situations had grown truly desperate.
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