A woman was born to have children, particularly male children. “Don’t!” she said, weakly, as he had bent down and put one arm about her and seized her hands with his disengaged hand and kissed her—kissed her almost upon her lips. She came very near that night to resolving that she would return to her home next morning. He was only a younger son, and you know what trouble we had. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful.
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