But this year," continued the horticulturist, "I'll take care it shall not happen, even if I should be forced to sit by the whole night to watch when ...he strawberries are ripe." Monte Cristo had seen enough. Every man has a devouring passion in his heart, as every fruit has its worm; that of the telegraph man was horticulture. He began gathering the grape-leaves which screened the sun from the grapes, and won the heart of the gardener. "Did you come here, sir, to see the telegraph?" he. “And that doesn’t happen. Ever.” Lilly put the strawberry between her lips, climbed into Matt’s lap, and moved her mouth to his, where they shared the strawberry. The soft sweetness of the fruit. The deep sweetness of the chocolate. Lips tasting every drop from one another.Matt’s eyes lit up when he saw that when Lilly put the strawberry in her mouth, a drop of chocolate had fallen onto her breast, just missing the fabric of the bra, an inch from her nipple.Matt pointed it out and said, “I’d. More

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