It was in another world from that in which men will die for a kiss, and touching hands lights fires that burn up lives—the world of romance, the world of passionately beautiful things. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. I don’t see what you can have to say. They were alike in one phase—loveless and lonely. She threw her arms around Rollo's neck and laid her cheek upon the flea-bitten head. See, it is on my cards—M.
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