‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly. A strong arm pulled her closer, and the lips that mouthed her own in tender touches sent her senses reeling. Hitherto she had seen it chiefly in pictures and other works of art, incidentally, and as a thing taken out of life. The curtains which she had left drawn were open, and the electric lights were turned on.
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