For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. “You were there, were you?” He laughed a little impatiently. Of his own certain knowledge he could tell them that. Do you want me, too?” “Yes,” she whispered foolishly, in the throes of rapture. In the afternoon he probably loafs in his pajamas. Whether they are loved or unloved has no bearing upon this desire to test their wings, to try this new adventure, to take this leap into the dark.
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