’ Joan nodded, her face still averted. The man pulled up his horse grumbling, and turned round. 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. “Mary! What’s going on! Why are you crying?!” He commanded an answer in a worried and slightly irritated tone. ‘But tell me this instead.
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