She could hardly speak to me; she insisted relentlessly upon a separation. 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. Accounts were now always where he could put his hand on them. It’s your first evening, and early impressions do count for so much. The others hurried to the window. I overheard what Mr. Happy Birthday, then. Fifteen from forty is twenty-five.
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