“In any case, there is probably some mistake. —Give me the letters, my love," she added aloud, and in her most winning accents; "they're some wicked forgeries. It is very sweet of you to have waited for me. ’ ‘This, monsieur le major, is entirely your own affair,’ said the lady, haughty again. Remember, some day you and I are going to have that book. " "But what, in God's name, possessed you? You have already wrecked your own life and now you've wrecked hers. The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone.
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