. “It’s the stir of spring,” he said. “To your room!” Michelle cowered, her face flushed with anger. \" Michelle said dejectedly. She could think of nothing more to say. “If one was free,” she said, “one could go to him. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. . Whether it was the nun’s habit or the harlot’s clothing that distressed her more, he could not begin to guess.
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