When next he asked for her, some twelve hours later, he was told that Mademoiselle had left. She had set out to get a beautiful life, a free, untrammelled life, self-development, without counting the cost either for herself or others. “Don’t!” she said, weakly, as he had bent down and put one arm about her and seized her hands with his disengaged hand and kissed her—kissed her almost upon her lips. Sleep did not come easily, but eventually her mind stopped its chattering and she fell into a deep slumber. I've bumped into so much of the underside that I can't see clean any more. She had unaccountable gleams of sympathy with and liking for him. Not one of them but bore the marks of having been engaged in a recent and severe conflict.
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