At any rate, here I am, and here I shall be, twenty thousand feet above all your poison-reeking cities, up where God’s wind comes fresh from heaven, very near indeed to the untrodden snows. No matter how often she came across this phase in love stories, there was never anything explanatory: as if all human beings perfectly understood. “Just do it. ‘You don’t know the whole, child. "What is it?" "The night," she answered. Perhaps at the first blush—it strikes you as odd. ‘Alors, you make a game with me, I see that. See!" she added, tearing the rag from her head,—"I had beautiful black hair once.
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