I was sorry for what I did afterwards; for, I don't know why, but, poor, lady! with her pale face, and black eyes, she reminded me of my mother. I might utter a million, and still I doubt if I could make you understand. I’m not a lovesick boy. Her specialty is the central thing in life, it is life itself, the warmth of life, sex—and love. Besides, your remark is not in the least complimentary. ‘Jacques?’ ‘No.
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