A third time, to the still greater surprise of my mother, she took a holiday. We spent it at the house, and she exhausted me and herself. For a day or two afterwards she gave me every chance at home, and we f****d furiously. She took to calling me a dear fellow, when her tongue was not against mine, but which was always the case when our mouths got together; and I imagine now, must have been a greater luxury to her than it was then to me. Soon after she received several letters which I said were from her lover. "I wish they were," said she. Then she took ill, and when better, refused me altogether. I had opportunities, but she would not. I said I wished I had never seen her; she said she wished so too, for she was fond of me, although it was ridiculous at her age and mine. Afterwards when
