She nibbled at his neck gently, sweetly, as her hand tracing his chest. “I can’t keep away from you. ” The talk was animated, and remained always brilliant in form even when it ceased to be brilliant in substance. He was wrapped in a laced roquelaure, which he threw off on his entrance into the room. A long shrill cat-call in the gallery seemed to be the signal. “I cannot reason with you,” he said at last wearily. She slid her cheek down the tweed sleeve of his coat. Red apples and snow! How often had these two things entered his thoughts since his wanderings began? Red apples and snow!—and never again to behold them! "I am going out for a little while," she said. "I was just thinking of you Jack.
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