” “There was no marriage,” she answered. It is the horse of the priest, you understand, and—and he does not know that I have borrowed it. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. I am tired, and I want to be alone. To be sure, he was attentive, respectful; but in his conduct there was none of that shameless camaraderie of a man who loved his woman and didn't care a hang if all the world knew it.
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