" With this, she burst into tears, and sank with her face upon his shoulder. ‘This is not love, Marthe. ‘The poor girl was thrust into a convent to become a nun. She says to be home by one AM. There is a musical programme, and we have the windows open and blinds up, and a pink lamp shade over the piano lamp—a sort of advertisement of the place, you know. She cried out in pain, then in pleasure as he thrust himself into her.
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