Then as she lay very still, with her hands clinched and her black hair tumbled about her face, he came still closer and softly kissed the nape of her neck. I'm one of those unfortunate duffers who have too much imagination—the kind who build their own chimeras and then run away from them. He pretended to be unaware of the mishap. " "But I've got to go!" insisted Rollo, in perfectly understandable dog-talk. ‘Never mind where. She would be surrendering to all her impulses—particularly the good impulses—many of which society had condemned long since because they entailed too much trouble. Tell me about your island. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise.
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