And behind— there was Paris, memories of amazing things, memories which made his cheeks burn and his heart beat quickly as he sat there waiting for her. ‘And you, my girl, if you’d been born at all, would have been just what you think you are. ” Her heart had warmed toward him. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image.
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