"By G—! she has missed her footing. “What year was 221 that, about 1350?” He asked in wonderment. Next instant he had her immobilised, her hands behind her back, her chest crushed to his, the white veil slipping once again. It consisted of a close jerkin of brown frieze, ornamented with a triple row of brass buttons; loose Dutch slops, made very wide in the seat and very tight at the knees; red stockings with black clocks, and a fur cap. Love-making at first hand is dull enough. The world into which she was so boldly venturing was going to be wonderful, but never so wonderful as the world within these paper covers. ‘No more, Saling, no more,’ said Mrs Sindlesham in accents of exhaustion. " CHAPTER VI.
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