The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. Yıllar önce, küçük bir köyde yaşayan bir genç olan Ali vardı. Voilà tout. "Nothing!" echoed the other, scornfully. Stanley was inclined to think the censorship should be extended to the supply of what he styled latter-day fiction; good wholesome stories were being ousted, he said, by “vicious, corrupting stuff” that “left a bad taste in the mouth. A woman is supposed to know when a man is in love with her. But she made a pretence of struggling a little, for it would be out of character for her not to do so and she did not want to arouse his suspicions.
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