He kissed her neck, moving down to her breasts, trying to consume her with passion. “This has all the clean freshness of spring and youth,” said Capes; “it is love with the down on; it is like the glitter of dew in the sunlight to be lovers such as we are, with no more than one warm kiss between us. But he was now too deeply moved to trace a certain unsatisfactoriness to its source in a mixture of metaphors. The attempt was unsuccessful.
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