“To tell you the truth, it has seemed just lately as though we were becoming in some measure estranged. All the rest is humbug and delicacy. 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. Then she burst into a peal of laughter. She doesn't understand; she believes he has taken a sudden dislike to her. “Forgive me,” he decided to say at last, and his voice had a little quiver of emotion, and he laid his hand on hers upon her knee. Not like my father. Gods! what it must be to pour out strong, splendid verse—mighty lines! mighty lines! If I do, Ann Veronica, it will be you. She was no longer a confederate in that. You are afraid of the warmth in your blood.
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