"Don't ask me about it now. “That’s suicidal bullshit, Lucy. I’ve got to have you, and by God I will. “The fool I have been!” he cried; and now speech was coming to him. Surely it was a dream. She reads novels—and history—and all sorts of things. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. And you see, I don’t turn my back, and I am looking at you and thinking about you from top to toe. Luckily, she was bereft of consciousness, and was thus spared the additional misery of witnessing what afterwards befell him. The whole place had come to life, the magic seeped out of the walls. They decided quite audibly, “She’s an Old Dear, anyhow. “Heavens, look at the time!” she exclaimed.
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