At the least, the tales had the ability to make her forget where she was; which was something in their favour. It towered up high above the level of the pass, thousands of feet, still, shining, and white, and below, thousands of feet below, was a floor of little woolly clouds. “Don’t!” she said, weakly, as he had bent down and put one arm about her and seized her hands with his disengaged hand and kissed her—kissed her almost upon her lips. There was a stain of wine upon her dress. ‘You are really not helping matters, my friend.
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