“I will come—with pleasure,” she said, “if you will promise to treat me as a new acquaintance—not to refer to—Paris—at all. ” “I say,” she reflected, “you ARE rather the master, you know. An ugly flush stained his cheeks. Bodies! Bodies! Horrible things! We are souls. Making her couch upon a heap of hay, she sank at once into a deep and refreshing slumber. She had taken care he should have this momentous talk with her on a garden-seat commanded by the windows of the house. The quarry had passed out into the open sea.
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