And, as he was about to put himself into a posture of defence, his mother clasped him in her arms. She entered the kitchen. “Don’t!” she begged. She savored the sweetness of his lips, all of his great youth and passion and longed for his innocence, his complete lack of the knowledge of terrible things. Running his hand carefully over it in search of the lock, he perceived to his dismay that it was fastened on the other side.
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