‘I must, for that the pig has already gone to monsieur le baron. She was alone, and the mask of her unchanging high spirits was for the moment laid aside. She followed him about persistently, and succeeded, after a brisk, unchivalrous struggle (in which he pinched and asked her to “cheese it”), in kissing him among the raspberries behind the greenhouse. She seemed to assume that it must certainly be something she had said.
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