Gammon's arms were ready; they clasped her and hugged her, she not dreaming of resistance--anything but that.

Only when her face was very red, and her hat all but off, and her hair beginning to come loose, did she gently put him away.
"That'll do; that's enough." "You mean it, don't you ?" asked Gammon, tenderly enfolding her waist.
"I s'pose so; it looks like it.

That'll do; let me git my breath.

What a silly you are!" "And were you fond of me all the time, Polly ?" he whispered at her ear as she sat down.
"I dessay; how do I know?
It's quite certain you wasn't fond of me, or you'd never have gone off like you did that Sunday." "Why, I've been fond of you for no end of a time! Haven't I showed it in lots of ways?
You must have known, and you did know." "When you smashed my door in and fought me ?" asked Polly with a shamefaced laugh.
"You don't think I'd have taken all that trouble if it hadn't been for the pleasure of carrying you downstairs ?" "Go along!" "But there wasn't much love about you, Polly.

You hit jolly hard, old girl, and you kicked and you scratched.