Their heads touched again, their arms tightened. “Even Katy Pfister can’t touch you now. " He approached the bed and laid his palm on the patient's forehead, and nodded. "I don't know. She ignored it until it repeated itself. Maybe the girl was telling the truth, and then again, maybe she wasn't. We were to have breakfast there and return in the evening. The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. The young male, as she had actually seen him, had been of the sailor type, hard-bitten, primordial, ruthless. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone.
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