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After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. 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. He could not make good his hold. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. He heard the door close; and in a little while he fell into a doze; and there came a dream filled with broken pictures, each one of which the girl dominated.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 26-09-2024 11:52:41