He picked up the broken fiddle and beckoned. And now let's go back to the Shovels, and finish our brandewyn and bier, Muntmeester. Even Capes had been for her merely an excitant to passionate love—a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoy imaginative wallowings. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear.
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