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 and haughty lips; well, yes, after all almost pretty. What were her eyes really like?

Then she turned fully round and Prokop became confused. “They say that you are able to discover the character of things by touching them,” she said quickly. “Krafft was talking about it.” Prokop smiled at this feminine description of his peculiar chemotaxis. “Well, yes,” he said, “one feels how much force a thing has; that’s nothing.” The Princess gave a quick glance at his hand, and then looked round the park; there was nobody about.

“Show me,” muttered Prokop, and opened his scarred hand. She laid on it the smooth tips of her fingers; a sort of flash passed through Prokop, his heart began to beat violently, and the mad idea came into his head: “Supposing I closed my hands!” Then he proceeded to knead and press in his rough paw the firm, burning flesh of her hand. His head suddenly became filled with a drunken giddiness; he saw the Princess close her eyes and draw her breath sharply through her half-open lips, while he also closed his eyes and, setting his teeth, whirled down into the swirling darkness. Her hand struggled feverishly and wildly with its thin sinuous fingers, fingers which were writhing to get free, which twisted like serpents, which dug their nails into his skin, and then suddenly pressed convulsively against his flesh, Prokop’s teeth chattered with ecstasy; the trembling fingers played on his wrist, red circles appeared before his eyes, a sudden sharp and burning pressure and the thin hand tore free from his grasp. Exhausted, Prokop opened his eyes; there was a noisy beating inside his head; the green and golden garden