‘I trust you were not altogether disgusted when I kissed you. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. So Mrs. She had suddenly become as the jewels of the Madonna, as the idol's eye, infinitely beyond his reach, sacred. She had just passed into a little antechamber beyond when she suddenly heard a faint knocking.
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