“You go home,” he said, at parting; “you go home. “Yes,” she said, “that is what we ought to do. He was full of fabulous stories, not just tales of his own past in Rome but wonderful fables from the mysterious Orient and the ancient Greeks, old jokes and yarns that only he remembered. The perception of him flooded her being. The touch of his lips neither thrilled nor alarmed her, because the eyes that looked into hers were clean. Wood struck me a blow which made me a robber.
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