It was in another world from that in which men will die for a kiss, and touching hands lights fires that burn up lives—the world of romance, the world of passionately beautiful things. "Where am I?" she cried, passing her hand across her brow. Kimble was clearly a plain-spoken fellow. In her little sitting-room she turned on the electric light and looked around half fearfully. ” “I think I am. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. “I heard they came from somewhere outrageous. Only her ungloved fingers, and the arms in their long tight sleeves as she held the heavy gun aloft, bore any sign of stiffness. . But I found it no laughing matter, I can assure you.
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