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224 them moist. And he remained like that, so long, so long! . . . At last he gave a deep sigh and she drew breath; he could not go on: not because of her weight, but because of her softness, that soft flabbiness, that stuffiness, that crumpled lace against him. His chest rose high; and she awoke from her lethargy. She lifted her heavy eyelids, she pinched her lips into a smile. It was a smile of utter despair. . ..

She released herself from his arms, stood up; and he made ready to go.

"Gerrit," she said, faintly.

"What is it, child?"

"Gerrit," she repeated, "you don't know how glad I am that I . . . that I met you again . . . here . . . that we have seen each other again. . . . I used to think of you so often . . . in Paris . . . because I was always . . . a little fond of you . . . because you are so gentle and rough in one. . . . That's how you are . . . and that was why I was fond of you. . . . Oh, it was so nice to see you again . . . after so many, many years . . . those dirty, dirty years! . . . It has made me so happy, so happy! . . . Thank you, Gerrit . . . for everything. But I wanted to say . . ."

"What, child?"

"You had better not come back again. . . . You know, you had bettterbetter [sic] not come back. . . . We have seen each other again now: not often, perhaps