‘You!’ ‘Yes, it is I, mademoiselle,’ he continued in his own tongue. At other times he seemed to have regained the normal completely. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. “Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech. It was enough that she witnessed it and could not go to him.
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