I met her when we were both very young, as young as you are. She seemed smitten with a paroxysm of fear. Died short, I suppose, and the girls had to shift for themselves. “You’re a student, perhaps?” said the tall woman. ‘That’s better,’ said Gerald, and let her go. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. . See? Down we should rush in a foam—in a cloud of snow—to flight and a dream.
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