‘Ah, the tragedy. ’ ‘But this is idiot. Life! Life and love! It makes me want to be always young, always strong, always devoting my life—and dying splendidly. ‘At last,’ he cried, ‘I have found you!’ He would listen to nothing. Diedermeyer, sweetheart? He just went in. She was like an angel with one wing. At the end of two long lines of foot-guards stood the cart with a powerful black horse harnessed to it. He started a dozen stories, but they all ended in the waste-basket. The misty caravans of which she had dreamed were become actualities.
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