"Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. His body went limp, and as he withdrew she ironically found herself at the doorway for the first time in her life of being truly aroused. It began to rain, a cold sweat of precipitation that was more sickly than refreshing. He might call her wife, but she refused to give him his wedding night.
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