” “Oh!” he said, in a colorless tone, and with his eyes on her face. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. It was in another world from that in which men will die for a kiss, and touching hands lights fires that burn up lives—the world of romance, the world of passionately beautiful things. Dim souls flitted about her, not only speaking but it would seem even thinking in undertones. .
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