She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. Just as he reached them, the Comte de St Erme drew Valade a little apart and began to converse with him in rapid French. He saw that his words were falling upon dull ears. “Do you think he’s still around?” She paused thoughtfully. It came into her head with real emotional force that this must be some particularly fantastic sort of dream.
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