“Dear me!” he said. ‘Can you not open it?’ she cried. Flesh and blood, vivid, alluring; she was no longer the symbol, therefore she had become, as in the twinkling of an eye, an utter stranger. Coming from the gloom of the passage, even the corridors seemed sufficiently illuminated for them to see their way. "And yet—but it is only part of the chain of ill-luck that seems wound around me. After all, if one could wait twenty years or more in between bouts of lovemaking, one could certainly wait a few more days.
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