“I’ve been thinking of you all night,” she answered. “Well, you know. It towered up high above the level of the pass, thousands of feet, still, shining, and white, and below, thousands of feet below, was a floor of little woolly clouds. Never mind. Through no fault of her own. She looked, Dorothée said, just as she always looks. Impressionable, lonely, a deal beyond his analytical reach, the girl might let her sympathies go beyond those of the nurse.
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