” There was silence between them. “I thought you weren’t getting along so well with your mother these days. He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way. ‘But I find you excessively rude, Gérard. ” She smiled. It was debauching, this—a devilish art which drew such strange allurements from a face and figure almost Madonna-like in their simplicity. He drew her to him with his hands upon her waist.
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