There was an air of repressed gaiety in her actions: the sense of freedom had returned; her heart was empty again. Her hand came up and she laced her fingers with his. The voices went into his ears but left no impression of their import. She came back with two women, one in each arm, which she threw down like sticks as she alit onto the stone causeway. Her eyes were insane with rage, crusted with yellow and green, only beginning to heal from her long sojourn underground. “Nothing can cheer me,” he said, “except champagne. " "I'm a queer girl," she replied with a smile. Abruptly she desisted, recoiled, and turned and fled up-stairs. He wanted to know what the joke against him was—if any.
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