I like high tone for a flourish and stars and ideas; but I want my things. He had grabbed her in the stream, embracing her naked body tightly, running his hands over her breasts and clutching her buttocks. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application. “Are there others like you?” “Yes. In a momentary fury she seized and tore in pieces the study which remained upon the easel. For a long time to come that would naturally be the theme of any story he undertook to write. His idea was to get behind this sustained listlessness.
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