He felt like a boy again, the taste for adventures was keen upon his palate, the whole undiscovered world of rhythmical things, of love and poetry and passion seemed again to him a real and actual place, and he himself an adventurer upon the threshold. My mother died the day I was born; that’s what they tell me. ‘And it is me you dare accuse? It is yourself you should arrest. “I think, perhaps if you will excuse me, that we will defer the luncheon. .
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