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. ‘I am saying so,’ protested Gerald mildly. In fact, Gerald had given order to the coachman to drive out of Golden Square and then stop around the corner. She slipped past the servants, her soft roe-skin shoes unheard on the old stone.
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