“Nor am I going to,” she answered, smiling. How could you draw the curtain aside which hides the great and holy places of life—you, who have never loved?” “You have become French to the core,” she murmured. . . . The queer phase of the dream was this, she was at no time a woman; she was symbolical of something, and he followed to learn what this something was. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone.
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