“I was lonely. A spot of colour, brighter than any rouge, burned on her cheeks. “I heard the clock strike as I crossed the square,” she answered. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. ‘Come, mademoiselle. Do not disquiet yourself. She hoped the lights would become hot enough to melt her into the floor. I desire, Sir, you'll recollect yourself.
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