Jane was a smoldering auburn-haired Irish beauty who seldom spoke to anyone. “Next door,” said a spectacled young person of seventeen or eighteen, with an impatient indication of the direction. He gripped one of her pert nipples with his fingers as he came inside her. “Oh! please don’t lose yourself in a wilderness of secondary considerations,” she said. The doctor nodded. "There's the house," said Jack, pointing to a pretty cottage, the small wooden porch of which was covered with roses and creepers, with a little trim garden in front of it.
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