” “It is you,” he cried, “you, who are talking folly, when you speak of friendship between you and me. Tell me. Then as she lay very still, with her hands clinched and her black hair tumbled about her face, he came still closer and softly kissed the nape of her neck. A little within stood a second door, or rather wicket, lower than the first, but of equal strength, and surmounted by a row of sharp spikes. .
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