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Rh powerful chests,—all these things make me dream pleasant dreams. In thinking of these things, I become almost a little girl again, my soul inundated and my heart refreshed by innocence and candor, as a little rain refreshes the little flower too much burned by the sun, too much dried by the wind. And at night, while waiting for William, becoming enthusiastic over the prospects of this future of pure joys, I made verses:

As soon as William returned, all poesy flew away. He brought me the heavy odor of the barroom, and his kisses, which smelt of gin, quickly broke the wings of my dream. I never wanted to show him my verses. What was the use? He