I often think of those delightful evenings in Paris. ‘And you come to me, thinking yourself half French, and expect me to take you in. A dozen books lay upon the counterpane. The great heart of the world beats only where men and women are gathered together. The curve of his shoulders, the very angle of his feet, expressed relief at her apparent obedience. Their soft, voluptuous bodies wove among each other to the faint notes of a lyre.
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