‘But I will tell you this, mon vieux. He was never drunk in the accepted meaning of the word; rather he walked in a kind of stupefaction. Only old librarians and Shirley Temples say that. His brows drew a little nearer together. You have converted me to—Lester Ward! You are my dear friend, you are a slip of a girl, but there are moments when my head has been on your breast, when your heart has been beating close to my ears, when I have known you for the goddess, when I have wished myself your slave, when I have wished that you could kill me for the joy of being killed by you. Maggot. I've often seen them storming the Carnegie Hall stage. ’ ‘Indeed, I’m beginning to think so,’ he said ruefully. ‘He was very kind to me.
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