See paragraph 1. "How old are you?" demanded Miss Prudence. "I believe he is conscious," she answered. 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. On the one hand, she seemed to think plainly and simply, and would talk serenely and freely about topics that most women have been trained either to avoid or conceal; and on the other she was unconscious, or else she had an air of being unconscious—that was the riddle—to all sorts of personal applications that almost any girl or woman, one might have thought, would have made.
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