“So it’s like you’re a dead end?” He asked innocently. Yet before she turned once more to resume her flight she schooled herself with an effort to look where it had happened. She had fallen into it naturally, the only expression of the dance she had ever seen or known, and that a stolen sweet. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. He was always in a state of semi-intoxication, but he was always gentle with me. The beautiful city that she had been awed by and even grown to love had been abandoned. Her usual dignified reserve had availed her nothing. The Semitic looking young man opposite, who seems to have been committing you to memory piecemeal, will tell you that he was never so bored in all his life as he has been here. “I am afraid—I really think that one of us ought to go with you,” he said.
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