It arises, I think, from an over developed sense of humour. It disgusts me that you should touch me. “It’s glorious good!” “Suppose now—look at this long snow-slope and then that blue deep beyond —do you see that round pool of color in the ice—a thousand feet or more below? Yes? Well, think—we’ve got to go but ten steps and lie down and put our arms about each other. In the rush of commuters he did not see her boarding his train.
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