“I cannot reason with you,” he said at last wearily. "Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. It is the horse of the priest, you understand, and—and he does not know that I have borrowed it. Joyous, she felt the need of physical expression; and her body began to sway sinuously, to glide and turn and twist about the room. Here she would find candy awaiting her, bits of ribbon, books. ” She felt humiliated. Or, after all, is it worth while? The Channel is a little broader than the Boulevards— but one crosses it sometimes.
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