‘It is you who is the fool,’ she threw at him, whipping round again. The watch was again consulted. What lends a tragic mockery to all these tender traps of hers was that she was within lawful bounds. I do not intend to allow you to forget. I must go perhaps in all the rooms. These petals! I’ve been wanting to cry all the evening, cry here on your shoulder for my petals. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor.
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