She let him have it all, as it was, after all, for the last time. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. "Go on first with the light," he said. It resembled Mardi Gras, and she thought disdainfully of New Orleans. No one. And by degrees, perhaps, that maiden distrust of yours that makes you shrink from my kisses, will vanish.
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