He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. At the least, the tales had the ability to make her forget where she was; which was something in their favour. ‘Laisse-moi!’ Impatience swamped him. Taking off his stockings, he then drew up the basils as far as he was able, and tied the fragments of the broken chain to his legs, to prevent them from clanking, and impeding his future exertions. She felt flattered. with you. I am used, you understand, to guard my secret.
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