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But now her boy was clasped within her arms, his suddenly burning cheek pressed to hers, his wine-tainted breath, mingling with her half-restrained sobs as she cried over him only half coherently: "Ivan little one son of my heart you came back to me!" "Oh, little mother! Little mother! Keep me safe from him!"
Ere Bernardine had time to divine his intention, he had caught her in his arms, pressed her close to his throbbing heart, and although she struggled all she knew how, he succeeded in covering her face, her neck, her brow with his hot, wine-tainted kisses, the while laughing hilariously as he noted how loathsome they were to the lovely young girl.
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