"You're not hurt I hope, Sir Rowland?" inquired this individual. And now, Sir Rowland," he continued, turning to the knight, "to our own concerns. She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor. Some of the delicate colour which the afternoon walk had brought into her cheeks had already returned. His name was Peter.
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