" "Where are they?" "Ay, where are they?" chorussed the mob, flourishing their various weapons, and flashing their torches in the air; "we'll starve 'em out. 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. There was another phrase which sounded something like 'Gin in a blue-serge coat'. Give me this picture. By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait. This astute personage was somewhat under the middle size, but fairly proportioned, inclining rather to strength than symmetry, and abounding more in muscle than in flesh. She found she was trembling at his nearness and full of a thrilling dread that he might touch her.
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