She was my first love. 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. While the cloth was laid, the host and Thames descended to the cellar, whence they returned, laden with a number of flasks of the same form, and apparently destined to the same use as those depicted in Hogarth's delectable print—the Modern Midnight Conversation.
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