Bring me clothing, I beg of you. Only I am not an acquaintance at all. Lovers' confidences should be respected. But I will never—never return. Her impressions of this cardinal ceremony were rich and confused, complicated by a quite transitory passion that awakened no reciprocal fire for a fat curly headed cousin in black velveteen and a lace collar, who assisted as a page. That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap.
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