‘For God’s sake, let go my hand,’ he begged. “And, after all, I am just one common person!” She watched the throb of the arteries in the stem of her neck, and put her hand at last gently and almost timidly to where her heart beat beneath her breast. Clarice was from Lombardy, fair-haired and light skinned. He and his friends (he had at least two per class, even in Trigonometry) would make their exits as quickly as possible. But not finding it, he had again recourse to the bludgeon, and began beating the hand fixed on the upper rail, until, by smashing the fingers, he forced it to relinquish its hold.
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